Family Secrets
by Honeybee1111
Summary: Shortly after marrying in secret, Trip & T'Pol are kidnapped. Takes place months after Terra Prime and ignores TATV. Story explores events leading up to the Romulan War and addresses a rumor of what might have happened. Includes TnT plus some Reed/Sato
1. Chapter 1

Family Secrets

Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything.

Spoilers: Brief references to multiple episodes.

Summary: Sometime in what would have been Season Five. Assumes TATV never existed. This addressed a rumor about something that might have occurred. This is a T&T story. And it isn't too concerned with canon.

Rating: M

Archive: None without author's permission.

The Vulcan transport headed toward Earth at Warp 4. There was no rush. Even its two most controversial passengers had weeks before rejoining their crew and resuming their mission. It couldn't come soon enough, thought T'Pol as her mind cataloged all the stares, whispers and eyebrow raises she had endured. The humans of the Enterprise, at least, were open minded.

T'Pol glanced down out the ring around her finger. Strange, she thought. Years ago she would have been appalled at the idea of any Vulcan marrying a human, and now she had married one herself. What a difference five years had made. Five years of observing humans at their best and their worst. Five years of being fascinated by their emotions. Five years of coming to respect them.

Moreover, marrying Trip had been the logical thing to do. There was no erasing the neural damage her adventures in the Expanse had caused. There was no erasing her bond with Trip. No erasing the death of Elizabeth. All of these things tainted her in the eyes of Vulcans, but she wouldn't change any of those events if she could. Since she would never be fully accepted among her own kind again and her mother was gone, there was no logic in returning to Vulcan.

So many of Vulcans thought that Elizabeth's death should have been a relief. The way in which she was created alone made that logical to them. Had they know what it had been like for T'Pol just to hold the child, they would have understood. It hadn't mattered how or why she was created. At least some humans understood that.

So her lot was among humans. And yes, a life with Trip would be logical. Especially now that he realized that Vulcans don't talk about their feelings. If her new husband wanted her to "share" as it were, he would have to do it in the Vulcan way - through their telepathic bond.

It was that bond that told her that Trip was in the engine room with the transport's chief engineer hoping to glean any bit of information he could about the engine's efficiency. Until he was satisfied he had gotten all the information he could, T'Pol was left to entertain herself in the commissary.

A Vulcan woman about her own age, with long dark hair, approached T'Pol, who was sitting at a small table next to the window and sipping tea.

"That tea smells unfamiliar. May I assume it is an Earth blend?" the woman asked.

"A correct assumption," answered T'Pol.

"May I?" asked the woman as she gestured to the empty chair. The woman wore a traditional Vulcan robes of a slightly old-fashioned style.

T'Pol searched the woman's face for any hint of derision or judgement or even morbid curiosity.

"My name is Ravel," she said.

"T'Pol."

"I am aware. You and your husband are the talk of the ship."

T'Pol remained silent.

"Vulcans," said Ravel, "rarely get a chance to be scandalized. And when they do, they seem to relish it. I doubt any of them would ever admit it, of course."

Silent, still.

"But I wanted to meet you for other reasons. I've been impressed by the tales of the Enterprise. Your Captain and yourself were quite relevant during the recent troubles. It's not many who can change the course of a people's history."

"We were two of many," said T'Pol, "But I'll express your admiration to Jonathan Archer when I see him."

Ravel raised an eyebrow, and T'Pol wasn't sure what to make of this woman. Everyone else on the transport treated her as if they would somehow become infected with an affinity for humans by coming near her.

"That would be gracious of you," replied Ravel.

Something about this woman didn't sit right with T'Pol. She stood up, taking her tea with her.

"Excuse me, Ravel. I must return to my quarters," said T'Pol. She moved as slowly and deliberately as she could towards the exit. She didn't want this woman Ravel to know that she did not like her.

Once in the hallway and out of the commissary, T'Pol used her considerable mental discipline to put the strange woman out of her mind. No doubt the woman was just curious about the idea of a rebellious Vulcan.

She opened the door to her quarters and knew Trip was there. Even without the mental bond she would have know since she could smell him, even in the shower. Trip knew she was there and beckoned her to join him.

Who am I to refuse? replied T'Pol, this is our honeymoon.

*******

"Wow," said Trip, lying in his wife's arms, "Sexual relations with a telepathic bond sure is exhausting."

She stroked his hair and looked down into his eyes. Humans had such a hard time not talking, even when they didn't need to. Luckily, she had come to find the habit charming in Trip.

"But I'll get used to it," he continued.

T'Pol slipped her hand into his. He closed his eyes. Now he knew why Vulcans never expressed love verbally. If they had this kind of bond, they didn't need to.

He knew other things, too. Nobody would ever guess that she was bothered by the attitudes of her fellow Vulcans, but deep down she was. It's not that she wished her life was different, she just wished her species wasn't so conformist. Of course, the humans weren't exactly open to inter-species mixing either. Attitudes had changed since Elizabeth's death but T'Pol regretted that it had taken their child's death for the humans to accept her existence.

Trip felt the tinge of melancholy there. The one that would always be there because of Elizabeth. But thanks to the Vulcan bond, neither of them would ever be able to deny it or pretend it wasn't there. In a strange way, that made it easier for both of them to move forward. The pain would never go away, but it would become easier for them both to live with.

"I heard from the Captain today," said Trip, "He says we might be headed back toward what was once the Expanse for our next mission. To check on things since the spheres were destroyed."

T'Pol rose from bed and began to dress. She chose some human style clothes. She still had plenty of Vulcan-style outfits, but she figured she would give some of the passengers more to gossip about.

"It would be interesting to see that part of space under better circumstances," said T'Pol. Privately, he knew that in addition to not being at war, better circumstances for her meant without half the ships in the area coated with Trellium-D.

"I suppose that whole area of space will be filled with good and bad memories," he said.

Both of them would give up the life they had, the bond they shared if they could go back in time and stop the Xindi attack and its awful aftermath. But both also understood that it was during that those desperate days that their bond had formed. Both knew that it was at the times of tragedy and terror that Humans and Vulcans could find the best within themselves.

"I assume you haven't told the Captain we're married, yet," said T'Pol. Trip had what she thought was a sentimental notion about wanting to tell the crew of the Enterprise in person. He also had talked about having a human ceremony aboard for the benefit of their friends. T'Pol disliked the idea, as Vulcan marriages were deeply solemn and private affairs, but she had resolved that she would indulge Trip in a desire to celebrate in a more human fashion.

The transport hummed just a bit. Trip sat up. A second later, T'Pol realized what he had realized - they had dropped out of warp.

"We're at least six hours from the next stop," said Trip, "Something must be wrong."

Both of them felt the frustration of being passengers and not being able to simply call up to the bridge for a report.

An announcement came over the comm, in Vulcan. T'Pol translated for her husband.

"The were peculiar energy readings. Probably just subspace shadows, but the captain wanted to drop out of warp as a precaution," she said.

"Perhaps we can lend a hand," said Trip as he too got dressed. "I'll bet you and me have more experience with peculiar readings that every single member of this crew."

T'Pol was about to agree with him and suggest protocols for offering their help when she noticed something out the window. There was a flicker of energy and then a giant, bird like starship appeared. Trip felt for a moment that deep beneath the surface, she was frightened.

"What is it?"

"I believe that's a type of Romulan Vessel. And a well armed one at that."

"What do you think it wants?"

Before T'Pol could answer both she and Trip dematerialized. Within seconds, they found themselves in a large, spacious room aboard what they assumed with the Romulan vessel. Strangely, their luggage had also been transported over.

Trip had never seen any room on a starship so large - except perhaps the mess hall on Enterprise. And this room was lushly furnished for comfort, not utility. There were woven carpets and low slung upholstered chairs and chaises. There was a table with a sumptuous spread of food - some Human, Some Vulcan and some Trip didn't recognize. In the corner was a bed, hung with think, woven tapestries with green letters that Trip thought were part of the Vulcan alphabet.

"Those words aren't Vulcan, I believe they are Romulan."

T'Pol noticed a paper card lying on the table. It was written in a rich calligraphy. In Vulcan. Again, T'Pol translated for her husband.

"Welcome. You are now guests of the Romulan Star Empire. The Proconsul has requested an audience with you. You will not be harmed. We have been ordered to make your journey as comfortable as possible and will honor any requests except your release."

T'Pol felt Trip's fear turn to relief, and his relief turn to anger. He walked over to the door and attempted to open it. He wasn't surprised when it did not respond.

"We've been kidnapped," he said, stating the obvious.

T'Pol took his hand and attempted to calm him, but he pulled it back.

"I'll keep my anger, thank you."

Trip examined the door mechanism and knew he could probably bust through. He also knew he'd probably find a bevy of heavily armed Romulans on the other side. He and T'Pol were traveling at what felt like Warp 6 on a cloaked Romulan vessel, heading into Romulan space and there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Just as long as you don't do anything. . .rash. Little is known about the Romulans, but I believe if they wanted to harm us we would already be harmed."

T'Pol walked over to the table and picked up a pitcher of what appeared to be water. She poured a glass.

"That could be drugged," said Trip.

"Why would they drug us?" asked T'Pol, "We're already helpless."

She inhaled the air above the water. Then took a small sip. It tastes fine.

T'Pol pointed to an elegant bottle of a blue translucent liquid.

"Romulan Ale. It's illegal on Vulcan. Highly intoxicating to us, with a slightly hallucinatory effect. Some Vulcan adolescents use it to test their emotional control."

T'Pol noticed that gloves had been provided for her and Trip so they could pick up food. Clearly, the Romulans didn't know much about human eating habits. T'Pol leaned over and put on a glove and picked up what appeared to be an apple.

"It's an apple. From Earth, I think," she said and sat down on the low chaises.

Trip joined her and picked up an apple of his own.

"This may be the nicest place I've ever been held captive."

"Romulans are reportedly very decadent," she replied.

"Their drone ship wasn't very decadent," said Trip, remembering he and Reed's near disaster aboard that ship.

"Any ideas on how we might get out of this? Do they have escape pods? Shuttles?"

"We're very likely being listened to," said T'Pol as she removed her glove and slipped her hand into Trip's.

He suddenly knew she wanted to escape as badly as he did and how unlikely she thought that was. She believed that they were being monitored and that any attempt to escape might result in their separation or worse. But she did need more information.

T'Pol stood up and walked to what she believed was the comm system. She spoke in Vulcan but after a few moments Trip could understand her. A UT had been activated.

"This is Commander T'Pol. I would like you to answer some questions. I realize escape is out of the question."

A deep, masculine voice came over the comm.

"One moment."

Very soon after the door swooshed open. In walked Ravel, dressed in a severe black jumpsuit that appeared military in nature. Her hair was no longer long, but short and also severe. She also wore a gold collar around her neck and what appeared to be a particle disrupter at her hip. She smiled.

"You look like a Vulcan," said Trip, "But let me guess. You're not a Vulcan."

"I've been masquerading as one or so long, sometimes I forget I can smile," said Ravel, "But you're correct. I'm one hundred percent Romulan."

T'Pol said nothing. Ravel stepped forward and looked her straight in the eye.

"First, allow me to apologize. The Romulan Star Empire is usually not in the business of kidnapping. But we have orders from the ProConsul to bring you to see him. And if you want to know anything about us - know this. We are in no position to disobey an order from him. He didn't know you were married, but when I informed him, he told us to bring your husband as well."

Trip took a deep breath, relieved that they had brought him along. As frightening as this was, he wouldn't want to be back on that Vulcan transport wondering what happened to his wife.

"Romulans respect family bonds," said Ravel, "And the ProConsul wanted me to congratulate you on your marriage as well as send belated condolences on the death of your daughter. Romulans believe death is only the beginning of journey and he hopes you take comfort in that."

"Tell him thank you," said T'Pol, "Why does he wish to see me...us?"

Ravel looked down at her boots. Trip knew immediately that she knew the answer but wasn't going to be telling. She might look like a Vulcan, but she was far too transparent to be one.

"The ProConsul wishes to tell you his reasons in person. But I can tell you this - he means neither of you any harm. And he is not going to stop until sees you. . .I know a little bit about both your histories - especially yours Commander Tucker. I'll wager if you two put your heads together you could escape in a shuttle, send a message to Earth or Vulcan and get yourselves rescued. But then he'll have us come after you again . . .and the next time it won't be so comfortable. Plus we've been ordered not to harm either of you - but we can kill anyone who tries to rescue you on sight. Do yourselves a favor. Meet with the ProConsul and you'll be free to go. No one will get hurt."

"What is that title mean, ProConsul?" asked Trip.

"I'm not authorized to give you details of our government structure. Suffice it to say - that there are very few Romulans that would refuse an order from a ProConsul. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to inform him that we are on our way."

Ravel pivoted and exited. Both T'Pol and Trip did their best to get a look at the hallway outside their room. It appeared dark and far more utilitarian than where they were.

T'Pol grasped Trip's hand and closed her eyes. The next thing he knew they were standing in the white space.

"I think we should meet with this ProConsul. Unless you have a better plan. We are probably very close to Romulan space by now."

"I don't trust these people. They are dangerous."

"Agreed. But I don't believe we have a choice. If you see options, tell me."

"Agreed."

T'Pol dropped his hand and they were back in their lush prison. She sat back down on chaise and poured herself a generous glass of Romulan Ale.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Back in school I was quite adept at keeping control," she said as she poured him a much smaller glass. "Be cautious. I have no idea what that will do to you."

*******

A slight shiver in the engines awoke Trip. They had dropped out of warp. T'Pol felt the same thing and also awoke. They were both fully clothed, lying on the bed. This was the fourth day of their captivity - and they both had an instinct they had arrived at their destination.

Out the window, they saw a green gas giant.

"I think we're orbiting a moon," said Trip, "It looks habitable."

There was a ring at the door. That was how it had been for days - polite rings at the door. Ravel or one of her attendants brought them whatever they requested. Their clothes had been cleaned, meals had been prepared. They had listened to Romulan music and read translated Romulan They even requested a message be sent to Earth and Vulcan saying they were unharmed. Ravel said that request would be honored. Neither Trip or T'Pol knew if that was the truth.

"I suppose we have arrived," said T'Pol. Her face appeared completely serene but very deep beneath the surface Trip sensed anxiety.

"At least we'll get to solve the mystery of why we are here," said Trip.

Ravel's voice came over the comm.

"We've arrived. The ProConsul runs a formal household. Wear your best," said Ravel.

Trip and T'Pol changed accordingly. He into a Earth-style suit and her into one of her many Vulcan-style dresses. Trip couldn't help but admire his wife's sense of fashion, even under the circumstances. The spun Vulcan silk of her dress shimmered blue under the lights as she wrapped a silver scarf around her head.

"It isn't everyday we meet a ProConsul of the Romulan Star empire," she said.

A voice came over the comm.

"Would you prefer to transport or take a shuttle to the surface?"

"Shuttle," said Trip.

"Very good. Someone will arrive to escort you shortly."

"We might as well sight see while your here," he said

"And get a look at Romulan shuttle technology," said T'Pol.

Ravel arrived, this time in an even more formal looking uniform.

"Come this way," she said.

Soon they were in a sleek shuttle, heading to the surface.

"Obviously, this isn't Romulus," said Ravel, "Even the ProConsul wouldn't be foolish enough to bring outsiders there. This is his private retreat. We are quite near the edge of the Empire."

Out the shuttle window, Trip saw a bright, green topography - different from Earth - but beautiful and somewhat surreal. The surface appeared to be mostly water, with some small continents.

"This moon is Minshara class?" asked T'Pol.

"Nearly so," said Ravel, "It had a little help from our atmospheric processors. But it is completely habitable now. The ProConsul even keeps a herd of Romulan deer and a school of Reman whales here...as he enjoys hunting."

"There are definitely not Vulcans," said Trip, noting his wife's eyebrow.

They were approaching a green, marshy island that had what could only be described as a palace constructed on it. It reminded trip of a cross between Versailles and the Acropolis, only bigger.

"This is the ProConsul's summer cottage," said Ravel.

Trip didn't think the UT was translating the word cottage correctly.

Soon they set down on a landing pad on the far edge of the palace. Several Nosfertu-like Remans greeted them. But there were no other Romulans to be seen. The place appeared deserted.

Ravel led them down a path and around to the front of the palace. It was empty and cold. Trip would have thought it was a ruin, except everything was pristine condition.

At the top of the stairs, they could see the outline of a man.

"I'll leave you now," said Ravel, "But remember this. Even though you can't see them, there are guards everywhere. Do nothing foolish."

Ravel slipped away. When Trip turned around to see where she had gone, there was no one there.

T'Pol began up the stairs, intently staring at the shadow figure at the top.

"I thought Vulcans had a flare for the dramatic. Apparently they have nothing on Romulans."

As they ascended, the man at the top appeared more and more Vulcan to Trip. The same silhouette, the same pointed ears. By the time they reached the top, he looked entirely Vulcan. A middle aged, supremely harsh looking Vulcan. Yet, there was something familiar about the slight indentation on his nose and the shape of his face.

Trip also sensed shock bubbling deep inside T'Pol. Her face was serene as ever, but she was not calm underneath.

"Welcome, T'Pol," said the man, "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you."

"Father?"

T'Pol said nothing else. Every bit of energy she had was going toward keeping control of her emotion. She even slipped her hand inside of Trip's to borrow some of his - something she had never done before.

"You must be Commander Tucker," said the ProConsul, "It's a pleasure to meet you. My daughter is naturally shocked to see me, as she believed I died in an accident some years ago. She was also under the impression I was a Vulcan, and not a Romulan. These two bits of information would challenge even the most controlled of Vulcan minds."

Trip looked at the man and immediately saw the resemblance. If this was some sort of a trick, it was a damn good one. The ProConsul politely led them onto a massive balcony overlooking the green sea. He took T'Pol's hand and led her to a comfortable chaise much like one that had been on the ship.

"Do you need water, dear one," he asked, "You look a shade too pale to me."

T'Pol looked up.

"That's what you used to call me when I was a child. Dear one."

"You remember. Please Commander, have a seat. There's no simple way to explain this. But I'll try and be brief."

Trip sat down and put his arm around T'Pol. She was fighting desperately for control. The ProConsul continued.

"When I was a young man, I craved adventure. So I joined Romulan intelligence. As you might have surmised, my family is somewhat well-connected."

The ProConsul gestured modestly at their surroundings.

"I was given an assignment to go deep uncover on Vulcan - taking the place of a research scientist that had been killed by a Romulan drone. That scientist was the man who was engaged to your mother. I lived as a Vulcan for over fifteen years. Married your mother. Had you. But eventually, I was called home. A large military campaign was beginning on the other side of the empire and my father and uncles felt it would be more profitable and politically expedient if I helped with that campaign. So, the Vulcan that was your father 'died' in an accident."

T'Pol looked the man straight in the eye. Trip felt shock turning into unadulterated rage, though to him the pinched look on her face was hardly a tip off. She stayed silent.

"Dear one, I thought very much about taking you with me. But by then you seemed like such a Vulcan child. I didn't think you'd fit in among us Romulans. Little did I know that you would spent your adulthood getting as far away from Vulcans as you could."

The ProConsul's eyes met Trip's. He seemed friendly, but Trip sensed that this was a man who could command armadas and armies as easily as he could get a distraught woman a glass of water.

"It doesn't surprise me at all that your Romulan side would be attracted to humans. We don't deny are passions the way the Vulcans do. I understand we Romulans have that in common with humans."

"Mother. . . she died believing you were dead," whispered T'Pol, who was suddenly thinking about her mother's stoic Vulcan grief in the face of this man's "death."

"Unfortunate, as I had grown to care for her, but it could not be helped. "

The ProConsul spoke intently, and Trip thought that it wouldn't be wise of T'Pol to lay a Vulcan guilt-trip on this man.

"Anyway, as you both know, there have been incidents lately between the Empire and you out-worlders. A few of these incidents - I know for a fact - you both were involved in. I've grown concerned. Concerned not only about you T'Pol, but about the future. Opposing the Romulan Star Empire is a fool's game - and the humans and their new allies ought to realize this. But there will be time enough to talk about that later....Did you dine aboard the warbird? If not, I'll have my chef prepare anything you'd like. He hasn't any experience with human food I'm afraid but he does a fair bit of Vulcan cuisine."

T'Pol pushed her rage down. Thankfully, she had meditated every day of their captivity aboard the ship. She took a deep breath.

"I've had my genome studied extensively. I'm a full-blooded Vulcan."

The ProConsul raised an eyebrow and smirked in a very un-Vulcan-like way.

"I'll let you in on a secret. The Romulan and Vulcan genomes are nearly identical. They can't be distinguished unless you know what you are looking for."

T'Pol, like many Vulcans, had heard the rumors that Romulans and Vulcans were distantly related. She had never believed them.

"Ah, you have some of your mother's skepticism, I see. Well, I do remember the stars on your bedroom ceiling. When you were just tiny thing we used to count them together and then imagine equations that would determine their distance from one another...it doesn't surprise me that you would find a career as a science officer. That came from your mother. The intelligence officer part, I believe you got from me. Along with your bravery in battle, I think I'll take credit for that, too. More than once I've read reports of your endeavors on the Enterprise, only to assume they had been enhanced by an intelligence officer looking to flatter my ego. Then, I get verification. I'm particularly impressed with your destruction of the Delphic Expanse spheres. Fine work there. Both of you. I doubt a Romulan squadron could have done better."

The ProConsul looked very intently at his daughter.

"I think you would have fit in very well among your cousins and half-siblings on Romulus. But there's no use in wondering what might have been. . .I simply wanted you to know the truth of who you are and who I am. There's a darkness coming - and I fear there's nothing you or I or anyone can do to stop the inevitable. . ."

A Reman arrived with bottle of Romulan Ale.

"Please, Commander Tucker, have a drink. This isn't ordinary Romulan Ale. It's the finest vintage there is."

Trip stood up. He reached out and took a glass that was offered to him by the Reman.

"It's the least I can do for my new father-in-law," said Trip.

The Proconsul raised his glass and clinked it with the first human he had ever met.

"Family is the most import thing to Romulans," said the ProConsul, "And the fact that you're now family supercedes the unfortunate fact that you are not Romulan."

"And I'll try not to hold it against you the fact that you abandoned my wife when she was a child," said Trip, "Now, may I ask how long you plan on keeping us here as your guests? We have to rendezvous with our ship in two weeks."

Trip downed the Romulan ale and then worked hard not let it show how much the liquor was affecting him. He'd be damned if he'd give this man the impression that human's were weak. The ProConsul took a deep breath and stared out over the green water. T'Pol looked up at him.

"You're free to go at anytime," he said, "And I do apologize for the dramatic way I brought you here. My position does not allow me to leave Romulan space unaccompanied by less then ten warbirds. As you can imagine, that would make a visit to Vulcan or Earth. . tense. I also believed T'Pol would require proof and would dismiss a message as some kind of deception. Plus, I confess, I wanted to impress upon her - and you Commander Tucker - the nature of my position within the empire. I expect that in the coming years, I might be of use.

The ProConsul sat next to his long lost child on the chaise but made no move to touch her. T'Pol sat up straight and her face became a mask of Vulcan serenity.

That's the most Vulcan I've seen her look years, thought Trip, but she's in danger of unraveling.

The ProConsul took a ring off his finger and placed it in T'Pol's hand. It was made of some sort of alloy and had an elaborate Romulan design - like a vine - woven all around it. It also had a white, ghostly stone embedded it.

"Inside this ring is a beacon that can travel quickly through subspace. Turn the stone three times and the signal will find me where ever I am. And it will let me know where you are and that you need my help. But I would caution you not to abuse it. There are limits to even my power within the empire."

T'Pol looked at him.

"No," he said, "I promise you. I only sends a signal when you ask it to do so. I won't be able to track you unless you activate it. Go ahead. You can study it when you return. Oh...and one more thing."

The ProConsul pulled a knife out from under his belt. Trip was about to try and take it when the Romulan simply cut off a lock of his hair. He wrapped the hair in a cloth from on the table and gave that to T'Pol, too.

"Genetic tests don't lie," he said, "You'll be able to confirm my identity when you return to your ship. I understand your Dr. Phlox's find interspecies mating quite fascinating."

Trip felt sadness deep inside T'Pol. His words reminded her of Elizabeth. T'Pol searched this man, this stranger's face for some hint that he knew what she was thinking. But he said nothing.

"Please, if you stay one night, it will be much easier on the crew of the ship. Some of them are taking leave on the dark side of this moon. There are fascinating caves on the lower continent...One night. That's all I ask. Then you may return to home. . .Earth, that is your home, is it not?"

T'Pol stood up and tucked the ring and cloth into her bag.

"Enterprise," she said, "Enterprise is our home."

"It's up to you," said Trip.

T'Pol nodded.

"We'll stay one night," said Trip.

The ProConsul smiled broadly, something Trip found eerie and incongruous in such a Vulcan-looking person.

"Good. I've had your things brought to your room. We'll dine on my yacht this evening. The planet puts on quite a show this time of year. . .oh, and dear one, the longer you stay the longer and more detailed a report you'll have to make to Vulcan. . .and I would imagine Earth's intelligence. I hear they are very curious about us Romulans."

A Reman appeared and led Trip and T'Pol to their room. Hand in hand, they followed him toward one of the staircases.

"Oh...and dear one," said the ProConsul, "Congratulations on your wedding."

*****

Nearly a week later, Trip and T'Pol found themselves on an Andorian space station orbiting a multi-species colony.

T'Pol sat at a desk, ostensibly working but really staring down at the odd, harsh-looking terrain of the planet below. She thought of all the various species she had heard lived on that colony. Including Vulcans, Andorians and Humans. Even though their governments' didn't always get along - these pioneers and traders did. Somehow, that was comforting in the wake of her recent and unexpected visit to Romulan space.

"I just heard from the Captain. Enterprise is coming here to pick us up. They'll be here in about three days - assuming they don't get into to trouble on the way. . . Have you finished your report?"

T'Pol pushed a pad towards him. Trip knew how hard it must have been for her to write. Vulcans did not like getting personal and both of them agreed that it was absolutely necessary to be truthful about what happened. Although, Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command both agreed that this would be kept top secret. The details would be kept hidden even to everyone on Enterprise, except for Captain Archer. Trip knew T'Pol was having a hard enough time being known as the Vulcan with a human husband everywhere she went. Being known as the half-Romulan with a human husband might be too much even for her.

"Do you think that if the doctor's who created her had known that I had Romulan in my genome - that Elizabeth would have survived?" asked T'Pol.

Trip knelt down next to her and grabbed her hand. They were in white space.

"There's no way to know that," he said.

"No," she said, "But I'm beginning to know what her life would have been like. Torn between two worlds, not belonging anywhere."

"You belong with me. And you belong on Enterprise."

She let go of his hand.

"Thank you," she said. Her face was a mask again. No hint of the pain inside.

"You know, I can't wait to get home." Trip kissed her lightly on the lips before standing up and beginning to pack.

She said nothing but she reached into her bag and pulled out the ring her father had given her. She knew and Trip knew what the results of Phlox's DNA test would be. And both understood that what may be coming in the days ahead and that Enterprise and its crew had not seen the last of dark times.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything.

Rating: R - bordering on NC-17

_Author's Note: I had thought "Family Secrets" would be a stand alone, but I now have an idea for more chapters. So, this is the first of a few more to come. Note the rating. This is more explicit than Chapter 1, for plot reasons, naturally. _

Vulcan legends and myths had told stories of a breakaway sect made up of those who rejected Surak's teaching. During the Time of the Awakening, this lost tribe had left Vulcan and disappeared into the cosmos. Some historians believed that, like all mythology, there was a historical basis for the tales of the lost tribe. Several had even posited the idea of Romulans being members of this group, given the rumors of their resemblance to Vulcans. But all of this had been conjecture based on second and third hand accounts. There were no documented, proven encounters with Romulans in the Vulcan database.

Until now.

T'Pol examined the genome taken from her father's hair. There were a few tiny mutations, such as would be expected from a population isolated for 5,000 years, but otherwise the genome was identical. For all practical purposes, Romulans were Vulcans and Vulcans were Romulans.

"It's astounding," said Phlox, "How science can solve civilization's greatest mysteries."

T'Pol sighed.

"But the good news is," continued the doctor, "You're as Vulcan as you ever were. There's nothing in this genome that anyone could say isn't Vulcan. There's no reason this should affect you in any way or any reason to believe it would have ever affected you."

T'Pol examined the scans. Vulcans earn their emotional control. It doesn't come from their DNA. If anything, Vulcans gets their passionate and violent nature from their genes and their disciplined minds from their culture. Perhaps that means, she thought, that she could still regain some of the emotional control she had lost in the Expanse. Things had improved over the last year and a half, but there was more ground to be gained.

"The man this came from," said T'Pol, "Seemed to think otherwise."

"Well," said Phlox, "It doesn't sound like Romulans are ones to embrace logic."

T'Pol nodded.

"By the way," said Phlox, "I received a joint order from Starfleet Command and Section 31. This conversation, these scans and everything to do with you and Commander Tucker's adventure in Romulan space has been deemed classified."

T'Pol nodded again. She and Trip had already been debriefed. As far as everyone except the captain and Phlox knew, she and Trip had been kidnapped by Klingons in an attempt to get ransom from Starfleet. Romulan and Klingon ships were of similar design, enough to convince most people on that Vulcan transport of the cover story.

"Thank you, doctor," said T'Pol as she exited.

"By the way," said Phlox, "Congratulations on your wedding."

T'pol nodded and took her leave.

*****

T'Pol returned to what was now her and Trip's quarters, a space created by cutting a door into the quarters next to hers. It was still relatively cramped, but it would be home. Not a temporary home, but the real thing. T'Pol had no one on Vulcan left, and Trip had told her after Elizabeth died that he no longer felt at home on Earth.

T'Pol looked up at the picture of baby Elizabeth sitting on Trip's desk. Because she had lived and died, Trip had told her, he had lost his connection to his homeworld.

He had told her so after they had buried the child on Vulcan. In his head he knew that Terra Prime was not representative of the majority, but in his heart, he felt betrayed by his own people. He couldn't walk down the street without wondering if the strangers who stared at him and T'Pol did so in pity or disgust.

Ironic, that a child created to foster hate had been so loved by its accidental parents. Perhaps it was the ultimate repudiation of Terra Prime that Elizabeth's death had evoked an outpouring of sympathy from most humans. Most, but not all. Either way, Trip didn't want to be an object of pity or revulsion.

Since Elizabeth's death, Trip told her that he only felt at home on Enterprise. T'Pol felt the same. It seemed only natural, then, that they would continue to serve on the ship that brought them together and try to rebuild their lives together.

She hadn't thought it was possible. After they buried Elizabeth, she assumed it would be the end of her and Trip's love affair, despite their bond. Humans didn't deal well with grief, and the death of a child often tore human couples apart. Trip had said as much. But Vulcans reacted differently to grief. If anything, losing a child made the mating bond stronger, all the better to share feelings that were so deep and taboo they could never be outwardly expressed. The fact that Trip knew, actually felt, how ripped to shreds she was inside, drew him to her. Never again would they feel the pure joy that had shared before Elizabeth's death, but that innocence had been replaced by something deeper - something that no on else could understand. For both of them, it meant they could not be apart.

However, no announcement had been made about the wedding. Trip and T'Pol had married privately on Vulcan and only told select friends and family, cautioning them to keep the news quiet. Word had spread on Vulcan quickly, and the couple had moved to clamp down any rumors on Earth. If asked, people were to say that they didn't know what the status of the relationship was. After Elizabeth, Trip and T'Pol had no intention of allowing their marriage to become a lightening rod for hate groups or allow themselves to live in a fishbowl. The crew of Enterprise would know, of course, and there would be rumors. But they would be nothing but rumors.

Trip entered their quarters. He was still in uniform, clearly tired from a long day. He sat down on the couch next to T'Pol and was quiet for a long while.

"Phlox says that the Romulan and Vulcan genome are identical," said T'Pol finally.

Trip inhaled sharply. While a relief to T'Pol, the fact that Romulans and Vulcans were essentially the same race was a bombshell that could threaten the fledgling Earth/Vulcan/Andorian/Tellarite alliance. It was going to have to remain classified information - as was his wife's newly discovered parentage.

"Do you think there will be a war?" asked T'Pol. She spoke the question with the same intonation she would have if she had asked about the weather.

"I don't know," said Trip, "But given the nature of things . . .the way humanoids always tend to . . .well, I would not bet against it."

T'Pol slipped her hand into Trip's. She knew he was thinking of Malcolm and his's mission on the drone ship. And their encounter with her father. Even back to the Expanse, where a good man like Degra could be so easily manipulated into mass murder. The very nature of people pointed to a long, frightening conflict in which there would likely be no winners.

_Where did you hide the ring? _

_It's in the lower cabinet, inside an antique human purse that belonged to my second foremother. _

T'Pol had told Starfleet command everything about her trip to Romulan space except the gift of the ring. Before their debriefing, she and Trip had shown the captain and he had requested they hold back that piece of information.

"They'll try and deconstruct it - or worse," Jon had said, "And I don't think they'll be able to. All those bureaucrats will do is ruin the one chance you might have of contacting a powerful Romulan. We can't take the chance. We might need to use this one day," he had said and ordered her and Trip to keep silent about the ring.

After all his experiences in The Expanse and on Vulcan and Andoria, the Captain knew that it wasn't worth destroying that ring. It might come in handy.

_Nice of the captain to order us. That way its on him, not us._

_Yes. Though I plan to never use it. _

T'Pol pulled the box out from lower cabinet and carefully removed the handbag that had belonged to T'Mir. It was here that she had hidden the ring.

"That looks very Earth-like," remarked Trip. "Not Vulcan at all."

"It isn't Vulcan. My second foremother obtained it on Earth. I told you and the captain about her visit."

_You said that was just a story. _

_I never said that was just a story. You just assumed it was just a story. I merely chose not to correct you._

Trip noticed mischief in her eyes. Yeah, Vulcans had a subtle sense of humor, but they definitely had one. And pulling one over on humans was hilarious to a Vulcan.

"Well, I'm glad she didn't land in Florida. If she had, no doubt one of my Tucker ancestors would have had to sweep her off her feet - and you might never have been born."

T'Pol would have responded, but she was too busy pondering the strange expression - "swept her off her feet" - it seemed like an unusual way to court a woman - removing her from the ground. Humans did such strange things with metaphor.

She removed the ring from the bag and held it up to the light.

"It's an unusual device," she said, "and it has a very strange energy signature even when it is off."

Trip shook his head.

"The Romulans have been isolated in their own quadrant for five thousand years. They have technology that we can barely understand. I'm sure they developed some of it and stole some of it, too."

Trip felt anger stir inside her, and he knew she was imaging what would happen if she tossed the ring into the warp core. He reached up and gently put his hand atop hers and guided her hand down. He took the ring from her.

"Promise me that you won't destroy this," he said.

She looked at him, and it was clear she didn't want to make that promise.

"If not for yourself, promise for the Captain," said Trip in a low voice, "You know there's been more drone attacks in the last six months. Things are starting to get ugly. . .and this may come in handy. I don't know when or how, but we shouldn't destroy the potential to contact . . .him."

Trip placed the ring back in T'Mir's bag. T'Pol took the bag and returned it to its hiding place. Only three people knew of the ring's existence - besides her father, of course.

"I don't even know his real name," said T'Pol blankly.

Trip reached up and brushed her cheek with with his hand, and he knew there was nothing he could say to console her. She was going to have to come to terms with the identity of her father on her own. All he could do was be there for her, if she needed comfort. He couldn't pretend to understand. That was what was hard about the bond. He knew what she felt, and yet he couldn't really comprehend her feelings. He had always known exactly who he was, even if it was plain, old Charles Tucker III.

"You're the same person you've always been," said Trip, "You've just gotten a piece of new information."

He reached out took her into his arms. She placed her head on his shoulder and sighed. This form of affection was foreign to her, but she had come to enjoy it. She felt Trip's heartbeat, and it comforted her.

"I wonder if my mother knew," she said, "They were married. I thought they were bonded - the way we are."

Trip stroked her hair and kissed her on the top of her head.

"There's no point in dwelling on things you'll never know. . .your mother did love him. She told me so."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"Not in so many words...but in her Vulcan way."

T'Pol sighed. She missed her mother every day, almost as much as she missed Elizabeth. Trip stayed silent for a long while, sharing her grief through the bond.

After he felt her sorrow subside, Trip moved to get up.

"I think I need to get in the shower. . .if I don't, I'll just fall asleep. ."

T'Pol pulled him back down next to her and crawled into his lap. She placed one hand on the back of his neck and reached up to kiss him on the lips. She slipped her tongue in his mouth and placed her other hand on his chest - as if daring him to get up.

"Honey. . .I told you. . . haven't showered. . "

"I like the way you smell," she whispered as her hands found the zipper of his uniform.

He didn't need to be told twice. His hands slipped underneath her shirt and caressed her breasts for a moment before he removed the garment.

Still seated in his lap, she could feel how turned on he was. She kept kissing him on the mouth as she rubbed against him. He moaned in response.

Suddenly, he rose up, taking her with him. He carried into their room and put her down on the bed and quickly removed the rest of her clothes. She reclined against the pillow and watched him. He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots and the rest of his uniform.

For a moment, he didn't move. He just stared her, lying there in the shadows and starlight. Beneath the desire he felt emanating from her, he could feel the pain she was suppressing.

Perhaps this will work better than meditation, he thought, as his hand gently moved up her thigh. Over the last few months, he had introduced her to the human practice of using sex as salve for grief. She had helped him so much in those months after Elizabeth died. Sometimes, it had been gentle and soft with her. Often, it had been primal, bordering on the rough. Tonight, he sensed it was to be somewhere in between.

His hands slipped between her legs, where she was wet and quivering. She whispered forbidden words in Vulcan as he stroked her. She had taught him those forbidden words; words that had been long ago banished from polite Vulcan society. Words only spoken between mates.

He stopped caressing her and crawled up next to her. She pulled him down into a searing kiss, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. She reached down between his legs and returned his earlier caresses, only harder and faster. But he didn't want this to end too soon, so he grabbed both her hands and pinned them on either side of her head.

"Say it," he whispered in her ear, making her shiver.

He looked into her eyes. After all this time, she still hated saying it aloud. And he loved making her say it. He shifted her hands higher above her head, so he could keep them pinned with one hand. He reached down with the other and started to make small circles on her belly.

"You're not going to get what you want, until you say it," he said.

She drew in a breath. She knew she could break free if she really wanted, but she didn't want to.

"I love you," she whispered.

He looked down at her and smiled. He waited.

"I love you, Trip."

"That's my girl," he whispered, letting her hands go and covering her mouth with his.

She reached down and helped him slip inside her, crying out softly as he did so. He waited just a moment before starting to move inside her - first slowly, then faster and harder. She clutched at him tightly, scratching at his back. He whispered English words into her ear, ones that he had had to teach her.

She began trembling, and he moved faster.

"That's it, baby," he whispered, "I know you're close."

She nodded, eyes closed.

"C'mon, that's it," he continued, pushing harder.

Suddenly, her whole body spasmed. She cried out, muffling the sound against his shoulder. She clutched at him, her mind dizzy and euphoric.

Through the bond, he felt what she did. It triggered his own release, and he fainted in her arms.

Minutes later, his eyes fluttered open. She was staring at him, her face again like glass.

"I'm glad I was able to help you relax," he said.

"So am I," she said.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Special Thanks to Middleman, for a slew of valuable suggestions and catching a few discrepancies that have hopefully been fixed._

T'Pol slept better than she had for weeks, a deep dreamless, Vulcan sleep. Trip, on the other hand, dreamt of Romulan Drone ships, hundreds of them heading toward Earth. He awoke with a start in the night, grateful to find himself safely on Enterprise. He looked over at T'Pol, who still slept quietly next to him.

Trip got up and silently made his way into the next room. As much as he would have enjoyed her company, she needed her rest. Instead, he sat down at the computer and began accessing the technical specs, what little they had of them, on Romulan Drone ships, Romulan Mines and Romulan Warbirds. It was all classified information, but since he had provided much of it, he had all the necessary clearances. Romulan technology outstripped the Vulcans and Andorians, never mind Earth's ships and weapons.

T'Pol's father seemed to think a war was inevitable. And he had warned them. Why? If he was so worried about them, he could have kept them there. It's not as though they would have had a chance in hell of escaping that place. Maybe he was hoping to convince them to sit out the war, go somewhere safe. Or maybe he just felt guilty for abandoning T'Pol and wanted to somehow assuage that guilt.

Trip started to feel angry again. He gazed over at the picture of baby Elizabeth. He had known her for such a short time, and yet he would have died before abandoning her - given just about anything to have her back.

Although, thought Trip, the man had gone through a whole hell of a lot of trouble to see T'Pol again. Trip didn't know much about Romulan regulations, but he guessed T'Pol's father had taken a spectacular risk by abducting them. On the other hand, thought Trip, the man also seemed arrogant to a fault. Maybe he didn't even care about the risk. Or maybe he was powerful enough that there was no risk. That was a hell of a summer cottage.

And, worse still, he had clearly been keeping tabs on T'Pol her whole life. That meant the Romulans had sources in the now-defunct Vulcan High Command and in Starfleet. Trip placed his face in his hands.

They look just like Vulcans. They can blend in anywhere. That's nearly as scary as their use of drone ships and minefields.

"These bastards are dangerous," whispered Trip.

****

The next day, Trip was in Jon's ready room, making his usual engineering reports. Afterwards, Jon leaned back in his chair.

"How's T'Pol?" he asked.

"Are you asking me as her fellow officer or as her husband?" asked Trip.

Jon shook his head. He hadn't spoken to Trip about the kidnapping, at least not without T'Pol or members of Starfleet Intelligence present.

"Both I guess. We both know she's been through hell and back the last couple of years. But this new revelation - it's of great concern to Starfleet. It's not that they don't trust her, they do. But the think this man - this ProConsul - his interest in her could put the ship at risk."

Trip exhaled sharply. He couldn't deny that. He didn't think the ProConsul would do anything to directly harm T'Pol, but just being on his radar didn't feel comfortable.

"That man doesn't give shit about this ship," said Trip, "Or the life of anyone aboard except her." Trip paused. "And to a lesser extent me because. . . because I think he wouldn't want to upset her. As strange as that sounds."

Trip puzzled on that notion for a moment. He didn't quite understand why T'Pol's father had been so polite to him. It had to be a Romulan thing.

"What was he like?" asked Jon, "Not what you put in the report. But what was your take on him, really?"

Jon reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. He poured two generous glasses and handed Trip one, who took a big gulp.

"Intimidating," replied Trip, "The people under his command seemed frightened of him. They weren't about to disobey his orders. Orders of a personal nature."

Archer took a sip of his own drink.

"We don't have much sense of their social hierarchy. It does seem that they haven't any prohibitions on sending their personnel on private missions."

"An entire warbird," said Trip, "was sent to retrieve us. But I did get the sense from the officer we dealt with - Ravel - that she found her mission unusual. But that she wasn't in a position to protest."

"I wouldn't like personal errands for Admiral Williams, especially ones that involved kidnapping" said Jon, "But what little intelligence we have indicates the Romulans have a rigid class system, which likely translates into their command structure. We also know that they have been spying on the Vulcans for years."

"And probably Earth," said Trip, "The man knew details of our mission. He knew all about our encounter with the Minefield way back when. . and the drone. . .he knew classified details. . .brought them up over dinner like he was mentioning football scores."

Jon thought for a moment.

"It's an old intelligence trick, reveal details of what you already know to intimidate. . .throw your target off guard."

"It worked," said Trip, "But there wasn't anything we could have revealed to him that he didn't already seem to know."

Jon downed the rest of his drink and poured another.

*****

T'Pol entered the armory and found Malcolm there, working alone.

"Good evening, Lt. Commander Reed," said T'Pol.

Malcolm smiled, still getting used to his new rank. He was still getting used to the sight of her in Starfleet blues.

"I wish to speak with you," continued T'Pol as she looked around the room to be certain no one else was there.

"Was there something in the armory report that concerned you?"

T'Pol approached him at the console.

"It's not about the armory. I wanted to speak to you in your capacity as an agent of Section 31."

Malcolm sucked in his breath.

"I don't work for them anymore."

"No more than I work for Vulcan Intelligence," said T'Pol, "But I believe that Section 31 has contacted you regarding Commander Tucker and mine's recent foray into Romulan Space."

Malcolm concentrated on the screen before him, entering data. He knew he was about to have a spook to spook conversation. He looked at T'Pol, standing in her Vulcan posture, wearing her Starfleet uniform. Once a spook, always a spook. It was the same on Vulcan as it was on Earth. Malcolm realized that T'Pol was probably the only person on the ship who really understood that.

"You mean your foray into Klingon space?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"All right," said Malcolm, "They sent me the report, but Starfleet Command isn't supposed to know I know."

T'Pol still said nothing.

"If it comes up, I'll tell the Captain I know. My loyalty is to him first."

T'Pol nodded. She empathized with Malcolm. At least serving on a human ship, such conflicts of interest rarely came up.

"I would like to know if Section 31 knows any more about the incident than myself," said T'Pol.

"You were there," said Malcolm, "It happened to you and Trip."

"But I wish to know whether or not Section 31 knows more about the man who abducted us."

Malcolm shook his head.

"No. This was the first they'd heard of him," he paused, "But they did ask me to watch you carefully. Be certain that your loyalties were still with us. . ."

T'Pol closed her eyes. It wasn't a surprise. It was expected.

"I responded that it was nonsense to think that you or Trip would cross over to the Romulan side - whatever the circumstances."

"But that didn't change their. . .request," replied T'Pol smoothly.

Malcolm shook his head.

"I suppose it doesn't matter. I wasn't trusted by my own people before this. Now I'm not trusted by the humans."

Malcolm wanted to reach out, put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He knew that wasn't right, not with a Vulcan. But still, he felt for her.

"You're trusted by Starfleet. And the captain. And everyone on this ship. We know you," he said.

"But you won't show me the report you received from Section 31?"

Malcolm bit his lip. He looked at T'Pol, knowing how important it was to her to see the report. How many times had she save his life over the years? He owed her. And Trip. And he owed Section 31 nothing. He had told them as much.

Malcolm tapped into his console for a few moments.

"I'm going to go work on the torpedo, over there," said Malcolm as he nodded toward his screen.

T'Pol nodded back and approached the console. She read carefully. All the details from her debriefing were included followed by a few paragraphs of analysis. These included one line about continuing to observe her behavior, in case she had been turned.

She stepped away.

"If his intention was to win me to their side," said T'Pol, "I believe they would have been more discreet," she said, "Our abduction was a show of strength on his part. And I got no sense that he was even interested in having me stay," she paused, "Thank you, Lieu. ..thank you, Malcolm."

"You're welcome, T'Pol," he said.

*****

The ProConsul stared out over the moon's ocean, watching the school of Reman whales hunt fish for their dinner. Behind him, he heard footsteps that he recognized. They weren't the footsteps of Ravel or any of his officers. They were undisciplined steps.

"Father?" said a young male voice.

The ProConsul turned around to look at his youngest child, Ston. The young man was tall and thin, with a mop of reddish hair and dark eyes. He had just finished his formal schooling, and the ProConsul was considering his future. The boy was exceptionally bright, but he did not seem to have an aptitude for combat. Unlike all his other children, Ston could not handle himself in a fight, which was probably due to the fact that his mother had come from a breakaway sect of pacifists that Ston had been sent to deal with some 35 years earlier.

"Ravel told me that you brought my sister here," said Ston.

"What business is that of yours?" asked The ProConsul, though he knew the answer to that question. The ProConsul had 3 children by his Romulan wife, all sons. He had one half-Vulcan daughter, and he had one illegitimate son, Ston. Ston had always been fixated on the notion that he had a sister somewhere, one he imagined would be kinder to him than his brothers had been.

The ProConsul looked his disheveled son up and down and wondered if he had made a mistake by even acknowledging him. Sometimes, he thought boy would have been better off being raised among his mother's miserable people. He had brought the boy to Romulus because he didn't want to make the same mistake he had with T'Pol, but instead it often seemed he made a bigger mistake with Ston.

The ProConsul thought of his daughter, T'Pol and how proud he could have been of her had she been raised properly. She was a true Romulan at heart - a warrior, a scientist and a woman who did not suppress her passions. He should never have left her to be raised by Vulcans, and her unorthodox life seemed to prove that. The ProConsul thought of his daughter and the choices she'd made, ones that would taint her in the eyes of any Vulcan - or Romulan for that matter. Marrying a man from an inferior species was, well, unacceptable. On the other hand, the ProConsul knew exactly was it was like to love someone who was inferior - it had happened to him twice. And neither time he had had the courage to . . .well, that was past.

Over the years, he had read of her joining the intelligence service and then leaving for the diplomatic service and then finding her way into service on the human vessel.

The ProConsul had never heard of Earth or humans until he got the report of his daughter being stationed there. He had then learned everything he could about the race, and he had been impressed despite himself. These humans, he thought, had come a very long way in a short time. And they had had the good sense to chafe against the Vulcan High Command. Certainly, they were weak and they were unsophisticated. But under the right tutelage, humans could become valuable servants of the empire.

In any case, it was a great regret that he did not take T'Pol with him to be raised on Romulus. Ston, on the other hand, proved to be more problematic. The ProConsul was always proud of his academic abilities, which were always the highest in his class. But the boy was over-sensitive to violence - refusing to hunt and botching any combat lessons he was given. He wasn't physically weak, on the contrary, Ston was a fine athlete. He just didn't seem to like killing. Much like his mother.

"What was she like?" asked Ston.

"She carried herself with admirable grace," said the ProConsul, "And she is a woman of great accomplishment."

Ston nodded.

"Is she pretty?" asked Ston. He wanted his big sister to be pretty.

"Yes," said the ProConsul, "But then again her mother was beautiful, so it is not a surprise."

Ston gazed out at the school of whales, standing next to his father.

"I want to meet her. Can I meet her?" he said.

The ProConsul laughed.

"You're a fool, Ston," he said, "Of course you can't meet her. She's a Vulcan. Moreover, she lives among the out-worlders. She's married to a human. She serves on an Earth vessel. I am fortunate to have even been able to bring her here once."

Ston looked down at his feet in shame, but he was also angry.

"She's only half-Vulcan. You could have kept her here," spat Ston.

"I am not in the habit of keeping my children prisoner," said The Proconsul loudly, "And even if I were to have kept her here, she would have hated me for it. I do not wish for her to hate me," said the ProConsul, surprising himself with his own words. He also couldn't help thinking how indifferent he was to Ston's hate.

"You should have let me meet her," said Ston, "I would like to know about Vulcan - what it's really like. And Earth."

The ProConsul shook his head. He had no idea what he was going to do with his son.

****

T'Pol returned to her quarters late that night and found that Trip had already gone to bed. She quietly removed her uniform and got into the shower, allowing the hot water to massage her skin. She closed her eyes and felt the stress of her situation well up. She knew she needed to meditate. Quietly, she dried herself off and made her way into the living room and lit a candle.

She closed her eyes and gently concentrated. The swirl of emotions that had gripped her since her visit with Malcolm slowly subsided and drained out of her. The familiar peace overtook her. She breathed in and out, calmly and in a steady rhythm. Serenity filled her, body and soul. But when she went deeper, she sensed something was wrong with Trip. Images of the drone ship filled her head.

She got up and went into the bedroom. Trip was asleep, his breathing erratic. She knew he was dreaming about the Romulans. She knelt next to him and slipped her hand into his. She sent whatever serenity should could to him, through their bond. The dreams calmed, as did his breathing. She slipped in bed beside he and watched his face as he slept.

She was responsible for his concerns about the Romulans. If she weren't his wife, he would not have have been kidnapped, and he would not be burdened with the knowledge of what was coming. Although she knew better to regret their bond, she still resolved to protect him as best she could. The least she could do was give him the gift of a dreamless Vulcan sleep.

****

Trip woke up early, as was his habit. T'Pol was also an early riser, and she was already awake and dressed. He could see her through the door. She heard him stir and brought him a cup of coffee - just the way he liked it. For someone who didn't drink coffee, she had gotten good at making it.

"Thanks," he said.

"I believe you will need the caffeine since your dreams were troubled last night," she said, returning to the living room to fetch her cup of mint tea.

Trip sipped on his coffee.

"You could tell I was having nightmares?"

"Yes," she said, "And I feel responsible since they are about Romulans."

Trip restrained himself from rolling his eyes. It was just like her Vulcan mind to blame herself for the current situation with the Romulans. He beckoned her to come and sit down with her. She acquiesced and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You're right that I'm worried about the situation with the Romulans. . .but if anything I'm grateful to you. It seems to me that without our recent visit to Romulan space we'd have a lot less information than we do. I'm sure the Vulcans and Starfleet are grateful for the information. . "

Trip leaned over and caressed his wife's hair.

"They are grateful. They are also worried I might join my father's people. Betray the alliance."

"What?" he snapped.

She felt a burst of anger coming from him, so strong that she had to fight for emotional control. She was about to answer him, but he interrupted.

"I can't believe that. . .after everything you've done. . .after all that we've done. . .after you've saved their Vulcan hides and . . . and after you all you've done on this ship. . I . .I ought to . ."

She raised that familiar eyebrow, simultaneously pleased at his outrage and irritated by his outward expression of it.

"They are merely concerned," she said, "And rightfully so. I would imagine my father could offer a great deal to me. . .to us. . .if he wanted to. But it seems he didn't want to."

Trip shook his head. He had his own ideas on this subject.

"Darlin'," said Trip, "He wanted to, he just knew you wouldn't accept. Your Daddy seemed like a man who wouldn't take rejection well. And if he has been keeping tabs on you all these years, he'd at least know where your loyalties are. . .I doubt he'd ever betray his people or his family and no doubt he saw the same quality in you."

T'Pol was silent for a moment.

"Then why do you think he brought us there?"

"He brought you there - I was just tagging along. I think he just wanted to let you know who he was - before this trouble that's been brewing busts up into a full blown war. Just in case you needed him."

T'Pol said nothing. She couldn't think of a scenario where she would need him, but then wars were not logical endeavors.

****

Later that day, Trip was working in engineering when he got word of a personal, subspace call. It was from his father. Dammit, he thought. I suppose I've been avoiding this long enough. He retuned to his quarters and flipped on the screen to see a very annoyed looking Charles Tucker II.

"Hi Dad," he said.

"Hello son," said his father.

"Thanks for the letter of congratulations," said Trip, "T'Pol and I appreciated it."

Charlie Tucker shook his head at his son.

"You're mother and I would have sent a gift, if that were possible. Of course, even if it were, we wouldn't know what was appropriate. Given that you married a Vulcan - one that your mother and I haven't even met."

Trip bit his lip. His parents were good people, but they weren't exactly comfortable with the idea of their son stepping outside the mainstream. They were traditional.

"I've told you about her. You've gotten my letters."

"Yes. You did talk about her often enough for your mother to get the hint that you two might be - involved. But we didn't think anything would come of it. Don't Vulcans have rules against this kind of thing?"

"Not precisely. They do frown on it. But T'Pol doesn't care. And neither do I. You know what happened to us - what Terra Prime did. Well, I wouldn't gotten through that without her." Trip paused, "Our daughter Elizabeth. . .she . . .well, you know what happened."

"I never got to thank you for naming her after your sister," said Charlie, "Your Mom and I were real happy you did that."

"I didn't do it. T'Pol did," said Trip, "It was her idea."

Charlie seemed genuinely surprised at this news.

"Is she around? Can I meet her at least over this comm?"

"She's on the bridge. You've called in the middle of the day. Next time I'll make sure you get to talk to her. You'll like her. . .I promise."

Trip hoped that was true. He loved his parents, but the thought of them actually liking a Vulcan stretched credibility. At best, he hoped they would tolerate her.

"We planned on coming to see you," continued Trip, "Had we gotten back to Earth. But we got sidetracked."

"I read about your run-in with the Klingons on the news wire," said Charlie, "You just keep running into trouble out there."

Trip nodded.

"It's all part of the job," he lied, "But we made it through. We've both been through worse."

"Well, take care of yourself son."

"I will, Dad."

Charlie disappeared from the screen. Trip supposed the conversation had gone as best as it could have, under the circumstances. But he found himself wishing it could have gone better.

****

Before returning to Engineering, Trip stopped off in the mess hall and found Malcolm there. Malcolm looked tired and skinny, and he was pushing unfinished food around his plate. Trip realized that he had been so caught up in T'Pol's problems, he had nearly forgotten that other people on the ship were also dealing with an impending war. And thanks to his bond with T'Pol, he knew that Malcolm knew the truth about the kidnapping, not to mention other pieces of intelligence. Malcolm, unlike others, wasn't in a position to be in denial about the coming conflict.

"How are you, Malcolm?" asked Trip casually.

"Exhausted," replied Malcolm truthfully.

Malcolm didn't know about the bond between Trip and T'Pol, per say. He did know, however, how close the two were. Closer than most human spouses, he thought. And that meant that Trip knew about Section 31's report to Malcolm.

"Thanks for helping T'Pol out yesterday," said Trip, casually confirming what Malcolm already knew.

"It was the least I could do," said Malcolm, "Given the circumstances, we're all going to have to stick together."

Trip glanced over at Malcolm. He hated when Malcolm got cryptic.

"Meaning?"

Malcolm didn't look Trip in the eye.

"Meaning we're going to be on the front lines of a war. And my guess is sooner rather than later."

"We've been there before," said Trip, "And we survived."

Malcolm shook his head.

"This is going to be different. Very different. We're not going to be dealing with one doomsday weapon. The Romulans have hundreds, maybe thousands of warbirds and drones. Conquest is what they do. . .it's in their nature," replied Malcolm. As an Englishman, he knew all too well what lust for conquest could do once it gripped a civilization.

"I've got to believe that we can stop them," said Trip, "That the alliance will hold. . .after everything that happened on Earth. That better angels will prevail. . . .besides, nothing unites people like a common enemy."

Trip looked at Malcolm, who he knew to be a natural pessimist.

"And that may be what saves us," replied Malcolm glumly.

****

Far away, on the edge of Romulan space, Ston had made a decision. He wasn't going to sit on the sidelines and let life happen to him anymore. He was going to get what he wanted, before it was too late. After his father had left for Romulus, he stayed behind at the cottage. He had told his father that he planned to consider options for further schooling - but that was a ruse.

Instead, Ston contacted a school friend whose father owned a fleet of cargo ships. He inquired as to whether he could hire one out for a trip outside the borders of the empire.

"Now, why would you want to do that Ston?" Maleek had asked curiously.

"Soon travel won't be safe," replied Ston, "And I want to see that part of the galaxy before men like my father pound it into oblivion."

Ston had chosen Maleek for this on purpose. Maleek had a sense of adventure, always dashing off to climb mountains or visit far flung sections of the empire. A trek into the out-worlder's zone would be irresistible to Maleek, he knew. Especially if Stron, who Maleek thought was somewhat weak, suggested the adventure.

"I think I can get a crew together," said Maleek.

"Make sure it's a ship equipped to masquerade as something other than Romulan. Maybe Vulcan, if you can manage. In case we're contacted. . ."

Maleek nodded. Romulan cargo ships often masqueraded as Vulcans or Klingons when they were transporting contraband outside the empire.

"I think we can manage that," said Maleek, "But the crew is going to have to be well paid."

Ston nodded.

"I have plenty of money," he said. After all, his father could be generous to a fault.

"Well, then," said Maleek, "I'll have to get back to you when I've put together a crew."

"I want you here in four days," said Ston. "Four days."

Maleek nodded and disconnected communications.

Ston felt excitement well up inside him. He had always wanted to do something - anything interesting. And now he was headed into what would soon be a war zone to - well, he didn't quite know what he planned to do yet. But whatever it was, he knew it would be wonderful.

He brought up a photograph on the screen. The image was of T'Pol, from her Starfleet file.

"Soon," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

_Rating: NC-17 Again for sex, drug and alcohol use and a brother with a creepy fixation on his sister, its all about the characters. _

Archer entered the bridge and sat down in his chair. He had just received an alarming report about a new minefield that appeared around a small, uninhabited system in the vast no man's land between Romulan Space and that claimed by the new alliance. This no man's land was shaping up to be the major front in the upcoming conflict.

"You have the coordinates, Travis," he said grimly, "Take us there."

"Yes, sir," said Travis.

"T'Pol," said Archer, "Join me in the ready room."

T'Pol nodded and followed her captain, where he sat down at his desk.

"I just received this report," said Archer, "That another one of those cloaked minefields has appeared. A tellarite freighter happened upon it two days ago, all hands were lost."

T'Pol said nothing. It wasn't a surprise that this kind of incident had occurred. If anything, it was a surprise how few of them had occurred.

"Our orders are to gather any intelligence as to why the Romulans would stake their claim on this particular system. There's got to be something there they want. And it's in our best interest to know what that is, whatever it is."

T'Pol nodded. After their first encounter with a cloaked Romulan minefield, they had learned to modify their sensors to detect the cloaked mines.

"We'll take whatever scans we can from Enterprise, but a team will probably need take a shuttle down to the surface to investigate whatever we find. I'll put you in charge of that."

T'Pol nodded again.

"The sensors in Shuttlepod Two have already been modified to detect the mines. But you'll need to take Travis along to navigate around them. As for the rest of your team, we'll see when we get there."

T'Pol nodded yet again, hands behind her back. Archer paused. He hated getting personal with his crew, but he needed to know if she was okay.

"How are you? I haven't really spoken to you about what happened since the debriefing."

T'Pol tilted her head to the side a little bit.

"I'm fine, Captain."

Damn, Vulcans, he thought. I don't know how Trip does it. He supposed he and T'Pol must communicate with each other in some way or another.

"Glad to hear it," said Archer, "I just want you to know that the information you have provided has been invaluable. And I am sure that you will be of great assistance in the upcoming crisis. As you always have been," he said.

"Thank you, captain," said T'Pol, hating the fact that the captain felt the need to verbalize this sentiment.

****

Trip and Malcolm were together in the armory, working diligently on adding more power to the various weapons they might need. If they encountered anything other than mines, they would have to be ready. If that were possible, which Malcolm doubted.

"Hopefully," he said, "This is just a precaution."

"You don't believe that anymore than I do," said Trip. Both of them knew a confrontation was inevitable.

"Well," said Malcolm evenly, "Let's just say I hope the confrontation comes later rather than sooner. The more time we have to upgrade, the better."

Trip examined the console he was working on. He had added several conduits in order to amplify the power.

"I can't argue with you there," he said.

"How's married life?" asked Malcolm, looking to change to the subject.

"Good," said Trip, "Great. . .actually. It's kind of a miracle considering everything that's happened. . "

Malcolm nodded.

"How's T'Pol? She seems the same as always to me. Cool as ice. Professional, but I imagine you're privy to cracks in that armor."

Trip didn't say anything, he just shot Malcolm a look.

"I'm not trying to butt in," said Malcolm, "But I am worried for her. I would imagine the Captain is, too. I just want to make sure you're taking care of her."

Trip started to look annoyed, and he remained quiet.

"I know you love her," said Malcolm graciously, "all I"m saying is. . .hell, I don't know what I'm saying. It's just that we need her on this mission. And the last thing I want is . . ."

"For the boys at Section 31 to have their worst fears confirmed?"

Malcolm returned to his work.

"If you want to put it that way. . ." said Malcolm.

Trip's face relaxed a bit. He knew Malcolm was just concerned, and he was in their corner. T'Pol didn't have any family left, at least on Vulcan. And he was now estranged from his. The Captain, Malcolm and the rest of the crew were now their family.

"I appreciate the concern, Malcolm," said Trip, "and while T'Pol is shaken up, she'll be fine. I'm in a position to know."

Something in Trip's words gave Malcolm pause. He's heard his friend say a few things like that before, since returning from Vulcan. Malcolm didn't know much about Vulcan marriage practices, but he guessed that that steely Vulcan reserve might not be as constant as they let everyone believe. But he knew better than to pry.

"I believe you. And if there's anything I can do to help either of you," said Malcolm, "let me know."

Trip nodded. Section 31 or not, he was glad to have a friend in Malcolm.

****

Ston paced on the bridge of a cargo ship, one that had been designed and built to completely resemble an older Vulcan freighter. It was a perfect disguise. Maleek had seen to it that they all got Vulcan-style clothes and haircuts. That way, any out-worlders they happened to encounter would simply believe them to be Vulcan.

Ston played with his hair a bit and smiled to himself. It wouldn't be easy, masquerading as a Vulcan, especially since he had never met one. He had only read reports of how they never laughed or smiled or showed any emotion. This was something he could not understand, and he felt very bad for his sister having been raised that way.

"When will we arrive?" he said impatiently to Maleek, who rolled his eyes.

The harbor master at the outpost they had recently stopped at had told them of a system that had been recently annexed by the empire. This action had drawn the attention of the alliance and a ship was allegedly on its way to investigate. The harbor master did not know if it was an Earth ship or not. But Stron had an instinct, a gut feeling that this was the place he would find what he was looking for.

"It's going to be days," snapped Maleek.

Stron nodded.

"Then I'll be in my quarters," he said, sighing deeply.

Once there, Ston continued to pace. He was nervous, didn't know what he would do. He didn't want to frighten or overwhelm his sister. In fact, he had resolved that he might have to take a subtle approach in meeting her. He looked in the mirror and did his best to effect a cool, Vulcan-like demeanor. He would show no emotion in his face. That worked for about two minutes before a sly grin appeared. But in the moment, when he needed to, Ston was certain he could keep his cool.

Ston had decided it was unlikely that his Vulcan sister would accept a long-lost Romulan brother right away. But he thought she might want to make a new Vulcan friend, seeing that she was so far from home.

****

Trip arrived home to find T'Pol seated in front of a candle, eyes-closed, meditating. She didn't even open her eyes, though he knew she knew he was there. He tiptoed around her and into the bedroom where he quietly undressed. He was glad she had found the time to go into a deep meditative state. While she was in that state, the bond was very vague, but he could still feel serenity emanating from her mind.

And he needed the serenity. All the preparations for the upcoming mission were taxing him and his crew. It wasn't as though they hadn't been through worse, but the Romulans were menacing enough to make everyone a little jumpy.

Trip shed his uniform, carefully placing it in the laundry. The mere idea that he would leave in on the floor might snap T'Pol out of her bliss. Vulcans were neatniks, he had learned. Now and then he left the pillows on the bed disorderly just to see how long it would take for her to straighten them, which she often did without thinking.

What he needed was a nice, long shower. He went turned on the hot water on. Soon, the small room filled with steam, and the water cleansed away the dust, sweat and grime from engineering.

In his mind, he felt the serenity gently dissipate. She had finished her meditation.

_Care to join me? _

A few moments later, he looked up to see her standing in the bathroom door. She slowly unbuttoned her top and hung it on the hook behind the door. She slipped out of her pajama pants and hung those up as well, but she made no move toward the shower. She just stood there.

Trip grinned at her. He lifted a finger and crooked it at her, knowing fully how illogical it was for her to get under the water again since she showered earlier. But she was going to have to humor him. And he fully intended for her to get wet in more ways than one.

She raised an eyebrow and finally approached him. He made room for her next to him and gently pulled her under the water with him. Looking into her eyes, he placed his hands on her hips and and began slowly caressing her now wet form. She reached up and placed her arms around his neck.

"I missed seeing you today," he said, "I can usually count on seeing you once or twice during the day."

She reached up and brushed her lips against his his, very gently.

"We were very busy on the bridge," she replied softly, "But I was surprised to not see you. You usually make an appearance there at least once a day."

She looked down and noticed he had become aroused. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed again him so she could feel his hardness against her stomach. He kissed her deeply, twirling his tongue with hers. His hands moved up to her breasts, his thumbs tweaking her nipples.

He broke the kiss for a moment, giving her another devilish look. Since she was in a mood amenable to illogical activities, he had a few others in mind. She flushed a bit green, but she began slowly depositing kisses down his neck and to his chest. She brushed his nipples with her hand but continued lower to his stomach and then even lower. Her fingers grasped his shaft and she kissed the top, very lightly before taking it into her mouth.

Trip groaned loudly as he leaned back against the shower wall. T'Pol continued to suck on him with Vulcan precision and concentration, paying no mind to the fact that she was being doused with water. He wondered briefly how she was breathing as his fingers curled into her wet hair.

Finally, she sensed he couldn't take much more. So, she raised her head and dotted kisses along his chest as his arms wrapped around her. She reached up and turned off the water. In response, he led her into the bedroom. Not bothering to dry off, they both laid down on the bed. He looked in her eyes and saw anticipation there.

He continued to gaze at her as his hand slid up her thigh and between her legs. She was already deeply aroused and wet, so he gently slipped a finger inside her. She closed her eyes in response. He slipped another finger inside her and she moaned. He smiled and slid down her body, careful not to removed his fingers as he did so. He gently spread her legs wider and began to move his fingers. He leaned down and pressed his tongue on to her exposed nub, applying pressure in the same rhythm his fingers were using. Her fingers curled into the bedspread and then she grabbed a pillow to muffle the sound of her cries. He felt her quivering and knew it wouldn't be long. He felt her flesh contract and her body rock with pleasure as she cried out into the pillow. He gently removed his fingers and crawled up next to her.

After a few moments, her eyes opened, and she gave him a look of pure, unadulterated lust. She pushed him down against the pillows and kissed him. He met the kiss back, aggressively pushing his tongue inside her mouth and guiding her body to a place where he could slip his hardness inside her, groaning as he did so.

She waited a few moments before beginning to move, gazing down into his eyes. She took his hand, the one that had given her so much pleasure earlier and kissed it. He caressed her cheek.

"I love you," he whispered.

She started to move, quicker and quicker. He followed her movements with his hips until finally he released himself inside her. As he did so, she felt what he felt, and she shivered into her own climax.

After a few moments, he carefully lifted her off him and placed her next to him. She had recovered, too, and her face was serene. But there was a glint in her eyes, and he felt something akin to joy inside her. It was a Vulcan kind of joy, but it filled him with a peculiar but satisfying feeling of accomplishment.

He sat up a little and pulled her into his arms. Vulcans didn't cuddle, and he knew she was still getting used to this kind of affection. It wasn't that she didn't like it, he knew she did, but it still felt foreign to her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and they both felt the bond energy ignite between them.

"You know," said Trip, "It feels good to be back on a mission again. I know things are likely gonna get rough, but when we're just floating around doing diplomatic errands for Earth - it just doesn't give me the same sense of purpose."

He felt her puzzlement through the bond. Pillow talk was another adjustment for her. Inwardly, Trip was amused. He'd had to make plenty of adjustments, too. These included avoiding expressing any physical affection for her in public and having a wife that could sense what he was feeling. Really _sense_ what he was feeling. But they were working out their differences.

Sometimes, he would let her be very Vulcan, and they would use their hands and fingers to show affection. Other times, she would submit to his very human desire to hold and touch her more fully, just like she was doing now. He did thank his lucky stars that she hadn't just adjusted to human mating practices but had come to completely enjoy them. And thanks to the bond, there was no faking that.

"I have always found my service aboard _Enterprise _to be most gratifying when the mission is - relevant," she replied.

Trip sighed.

"Me too, I guess. Though sometimes I long for the days of the first year we were out here. You know, when there was a new adventure around every corner."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow, amused.

"You mean when there was a new disaster around every corner," she teased flatly.

Trip playfully nipped at her shoulder.

"Back when you couldn't stand me. When a day wasn't complete when I didn't get on your nerves. . ."

She raised her eyebrow again. He started to sense something from her. It was like an admission of guilt but better. He grinned and then laughed.

"Well, now, I always kinda thought you enjoyed our little arguments. I didn't realize how much," he said.

"I had never experienced simultaneous annoyance and pleasure. It was fascinating."

"And attraction. You were attracted to me - even then."

"I had never been attracted. . ." she said carefully, "And didn't recognize the feeling until later. But you are in no position to judge me, Commander."

"I'm certainly not," he said, "I thought about what it would be like to kiss you the first time we were in decon together. I was so pissed off and that thought made me even more pissed off. I couldn't believe that such an uptight, snippy Vulcan could be so beautiful."

"Well," she replied, "I'm glad you were able to control yourself. It would have been awkward. I wasn't yet ready to receive your affection."

"Well," he said, "I barely admitted it to myself. Wouldn't even admit it to Malcolm when we were trapped in the Shuttlepod. He was going on about how pretty he thought you were. . ."

T'Pol raised her head, and Trip laughed out loud. He so rarely got a chance to surprise her.

"Don't tell him I told you that. He only admitted it because he thought he was dying. . .really, I know you won't, but you know Malcolm, he's so reserved."

T'Pol realized there was more to this story. She looked at Trip, but he suppressed what he was thinking so she couldn't get at it. This was good practice, he thought, in case I have to hide something really embarrassing from her.

"He specifically said you have a nice ass," said Trip, "And I can't say he was wrong about that. Oh, and he used the more British term. .bum."

Trip reached down and squeezed T'Pol's bum for emphasis.

"Don't tell him," pleaded Trip, "He'll be mortified."

"I can't imagine it ever coming up in conversation," she replied cooly.

Trip leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

"Back then, I never would have dreamed this. . .this thing between us would have gone anywhere. I'm one lucky guy," he said.

Suddenly, he sensed a change in her mood. His words had triggered memories of all the pain she had caused him - and of Elizabeth.

"I am a lucky guy," he whispered, "and you know I mean that. And I know you're sorry - and I'm sorry, too. But it's water under the bridge. Come on - let's get ready to sleep. You kinda exhausted me."

She nodded, feeling peaceful again. She felt as lucky as he did, if not more so.

****

The next evening, Trip and T'Pol dined with Captain Archer in his private mess. He served wine, which T'Pol decided to drink. Archer looked at the two of them, marveling at how professional they seemed. If he hadn't known better, he would think they were still just colleagues. Maybe that was why it took him so long to get a clue about their relationship when it had first started.

Still, he was grateful that they seemed to be able to work together without letting their personal relationship interfere with the day to day operations of the ship. Starfleet had originally balked at the idea of letting a married couple serve together, but Archer had argued that if grown adults were going to be serving in deep space for years on end, marriages were going to happen. In fact, Archer was surprised more of his crew hadn't paired off. He knew of a few couples, but Trip and T'Pol were the first to marry. That was probably because Vulcan's mate for life, thought Archer, looking at Trip with a twinge of jealousy. Archer had long since let go of his crush on T'Pol, and he didn't envy Trip all the pain and angst the pair had been through, but they did seem happy. He thought of Erika, who was light years away on the Columbia and hoped that their paths would cross again soon.

"How's the wine?" he asked T'Pol, "It's from the Sonoma Valley."

"I'm not enough of an experienced drinker to judge properly," she replied, "But I find it agreeable."

Trip sipped on his own glass and winked at her. It was the first sign of affection between them that Archer had observed. _The wine might be getting to them_, he thought.

"I think its an excellent vintage, Captain," said Trip.

"Glad you think so," said Archer, "Now, I hadn't planned on talking business tonight. but I got a report that concerns the mission. You two sober enough to talk business?"

Both his officers nodded.

"I'm just barely sober enough," said Archer as he poured himself another generous glass. Then, he poured Trip and T'Pol each a glass.

Trip took a sip of his, and T'Pol soon followed but with a smaller sip.

"There's a space station not far from our destination. Vulcan intelligence has an agent planted there. The latest briefing is that there is some kind of terra forming operation happening at this new Romulan outpost. The Romulans may be using surrogates at this station to help equip themselves. We're going to stop there first, see if we can get any information. It sure would be helpful if we knew what they were looking for before we arrived."

T'Pol stared down into her glass of wine, not meeting the captain's eyes.

"As you know, Romulan terra-forming technology appears very advanced. We saw some evidence of highly sophisticated atmospheric processing," she said.

"Technology that had been in use for years," added Trip, "That place we were at - it wasn't new. There was evidence of wear and tear, decades of it."

"Well," said Archer, "I'm going to need both of you to be on the away team. You two haven't let your relationship interfere with your work on the ship, but you don't often work in the same space. An away mission is different. T'Pol will be in charge. Can both of you handle it?"

Trip and T'Pol looked at one another.

"Yes, Captain."

"I can if she can," said Trip.

"Good," said Archer, "Starfleet wants me to keep an eye on how you two work together, on top of everything else I have to deal with. I'd rather keep those reports short and uninteresting. . . .I don't want to be responsible for a new rule preventing newlyweds from serving together."

"Neither do we," said Trip.

****

Ston sat across the table from a real Vulcan, one he had only met days before. The Vulcan was stoic, as expected, and his dress quite fine for such a rough section of no man's land. But Ston looked at the burn marks up and down the man's arm and knew that the infamous Vulcan control had failed the man. Stron sniggered to himself. He knew all of that logic and control had to be a myth. If they were Romulans, as was assumed, that had to be all a lie. This man proved that.

"Did you send the report? Just like I asked," asked Ston eagerly.

The intelligence officer gave Ston a deadly look. Filled with emotion, thought Ston. Typical of a junky.

"Good," said Ston, "Then I'll have the rest of your supply transported to your quarters. And just because I'm in a generous mood, I'll throw in a case of Romulan Ale."

The Vulcan nodded.

"Thank you . . .Ston."

"You're welcome. But you have to tell me if you hear which Earth vessel is being sent here to investigate. If you don't, well, kiss the third batch goodbye. And my friend Maleek provides the best, I promise you."

The Vulcan nodded.

"You'll have the information you want," he said smoothly.

"Good," said Ston, "And if it turns out its the ship with the Vulcan first officer. I'll double your payment."

The Vulcan nodded. Then, he got up from his seat and left the bar without looking back at Ston. Ston resisted the impulse to grin, since he was trying to pass for a Vulcan. Though the Vulcans around here were. . .well, it didn't matter.

He hailed a waitress. She was Andorian and wearing a hopelessly short skirt.

"Bring me something . . interesting," said Ston.

Her antennae twitched.

"To drink," huffed Ston.


	5. Chapter 5

_Rating: R - For Sex, language and drug use. _

Humanoid aliens from all over the quadrant seemed to have jammed their way into the wide, but nevertheless crowded corridors of the enormous space station that orbited the Hirku system. Having only arrived via the airlock and hour before, Trip took an inventory in his head of the species he recognized. Among the many he didn't recognize, he'd seen Tellarites, Andorians, Vulcans, Suliban, Lorellians, Klingons, Orions and even a human or two. He even caught a glimpse of one of the short, round-eared jackasses that had tried to rob Enterprise early in their mission.

Trip's trained engineer's eye also noticed bits of wear and tear in bulkheads and conduits which lined the ceiling. In his head, he ticked off safety violation after safety violation. Nothing seemed deadly, but no matter how interesting this place was, he figured it would be a good thing to spend as little time there as possible.

Trip glanced over at T'Pol to see if she had noticed, but if she did, it obviously didn't concern her. She was in conversation with Hoshi, who had been studying the Romulan language as best she could with the little information they had. Hopefully, Hoshi would be able to recognize even fragments the language if they detected in any transmissions.

"Did you see that little pirate fellow?" said Malcolm.

"Yeah," replied Trip, "But I hardly think its fair to hold the entire race accountable for the actions of a few pirates. And that wasn't one of the guys who tried to rob us."

There was just a touch of sarcasm in Trip's voice, which Malcolm detected.

"Well," replied Malcolm, "From what the Captain put in his report, I'd think it's safe to assume we shouldn't assume they wouldn't be pirates, but alas I suppose we should just focus on this mission."

Trip grinned.

"Probably," said Trip, who glanced over at his wife and saw she was waiting for them. He reminded himself that she wasn't his wife on this mission; she was his CO. The away team consisted of the four of them. Malcolm and Trip were to search for technical evidence that anyone on the station was helping the Romulans, while T'Pol and Hoshi were going to do some old-fashioned reconnaissance. T'Pol was to meet with the Vulcan intelligence officer in a tea room on one of the higher decks; while Hoshi was going to loiter around the large waiting area outside the security and customs station.

"We'll all report back here by 1300 hours," said T'Pol, "Don't hesitate to call in before that, if it is deemed necessary."

Malcolm nodded formally.

"Be careful," said Trip, "both of you."

Hoshi smiled, and T'Pol nodded before heading toward a turbolift.

Trip shook his head. T'Pol had been suppressing the bond since the moment the mission started. She didn't even say goodbye through the bond, as she often did aboard the ship. She sure was taking this working relationship only business seriously.

****

T'Pol found her way to the "Vulcan Section" of the vast space station, which consisted of a pie shaped wedge in the large, round main hallways of the station that was three decks deep. All the Vulcans who lived aboard the station had their businesses and living quarters here, and there were several shops and restaurants catering to the station's hundred or so Vulcan residents and the many Vulcan visitors. Although non-Vulcans were welcome in the section, they were uncommon.

"_Tonk'peh," _said the young female Vulcan who was the hostess of the tea room.

T'Pol nodded, happy to hear her native language spoken. In Vulcan, she requested a table for one, and the hostess led her to a small table near the back window. T'Pol could see _Enterprise_ docked at one of the ports, as well as several other starships. Some were of Vulcan design.

She tapped her order into the screen that was embedded in the table and wondered just how authentic the meal would be. From the smell of it, the establishment had imported most of its ingredients directly from Vulcan. In addition to the menu, the screen embedded in the table also accessed the subspace news wires from Vulcan, offered thousands of logic puzzles, works of literature and even played Vulcan music.

Her meal arrived, and T'Pol had noticed that the Vulcan intelligence officer that was stationed here was late. Vulcans were rarely late, she thought as she began to consume her food.

These tastes of home were comforting to her. Although she was content to be living the life of a planetary ex-patriot, she would also always be Vulcan and the smells and tastes of home would remain part of her identity.

After a short while, a middle aged Vulcan man appeared at her table. He wore traditional Vulcan robes, albeit in the informal style, but he barely looked Vulcan to her. Something in the lines of his countenance and the hue of his skin suggested stress that most Vulcans do not allow themselves to endure. T'Pol empathized, knowing she too had been through more than most Vulcans could understand. The life of an intelligence officer this far on the frontier of known space was no doubt a difficult one.

"You are Commander T'Pol," he said in Vulcan.

"Yes. You must be Javon," she replied.

He nodded in the affirmative and sat down.

"I have been requested to give you any information I have on the Romulans and their activities in the area," he said.

"Vulcan intelligence is in full cooperation with with Earth intelligence on this matter," she said.

Javon nodded.

"Are you enjoying your meal?" he asked.

T'Pol hesitated for a moment. Such an idle question was unusual from a Vulcan, but then, like her, he might have adopted off-worlder customs.

"It is agreeable to consume such authentic fare," she replied.

"I assume that human chefs only manage a fair imitation of Vulcan cuisine," he responded.

"Yes,"she replied.

After a moment's silence, she spoke.

"How much intelligence do have for me? We can transfer any files via encryption, as you have no doubt been informed by your superiors."

Javon produced a small crystalline disk from his pocket and slid it, quite openly, across the table. T'Pol recognized it as a means of storing large quantities of data.

"To anyone not holding the encryption key, the data will appear to be the account books for the import business I run. I'm having you take it to my accountant rather than sending such vast files over subspace."

T'Pol nodded and casually slipped the disk into her belt. She then waited for Javon to speak, as it was customary for him to summarize the most important points.

"How is your husband?" asked Javon in English.

T'Pol was surprised by both the language switch and the question.

"Don't worry," said Javon with a wave of his hand, "Our speaking a foreign tongue will not draw attention to us. I speak over 20 languages and have been trying to learn English. Me not trying to speak it with you would be more suspicious to the staff here."

T'Pol sipped on her tea and sensed amusement from him. Clearly, this man had been in deep space for long enough that his emotions were very close to the surface. She wasn't in a position to judge, but it wasn't a mirror she enjoyed looking into.

"My husband is well," she replied.

"You created quite the scandal on Vulcan," said Javon, "We even got wind of it here. I must say it was agreeable to me that you extracted yourself from Koss's family. I know little of the man, but if he's like his father you are far better off."

T'Pol didn't react, but she was curious. She suppressed the desire to know more. This man was using intelligence tricks on her, treating her like an asset rather than a colleague. It wasn't right.

"That family pretends to be all about logic and honor, but they run some of the myriad businesses through this station. Koss's father has a rather, shall I say, ruthless application of logic."

T'Pol believed this to be true, and the news _was_ agreeable to her. But Javon was flattering her by supporting her unorthodox choices and providing justification for them. What he didn't know is that T'Pol would not have been able to bond with a member of Surak's family, let alone Koss. His father's nature had nothing to do with her choice. T'Pol reminded herself of that fact as a way to keep Javon's flattery at bay.

"My wife has remained on Vulcan all these years," said Javon, "and I've never found the need to return. I have found an Orion woman that is a most stimulating companion. Did you know they emit mind-controlling pheromones? That they control their mates that way?"

T'Pol nodded.

"Does she control you that way? The last time I encountered a group of them, they enslaved nearly every man on my ship," she inquired casually.

"She sometimes thinks she does," responded Javon, "but as you know, a disciplined mind can accomplish much."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. She thought her relationship with Trip was unusual, but she suddenly wished to be an insect on the wall at Javon's residence.

"Do you wish to provide me with any more information?" she asked.

Javon leaned back.

"You likely know most of what is on that disk. It contains all of my reports to Vulcan intelligence including the last one. Two traders who operate out of this station have likely been supplying the Romulans with materials for their operation. The Klingon, he provides basic materials that they could obtain from anyone. Heavy metals, alloys and other raw material used in the construction of the mines, defense systems and their buildings. He doesn't concern me. But the Tellarite, his services are more interesting. He only seems to provide one thing - an element native to their world that's primary use is to stabilize volatile substances in mining operations.

T'Pol nodded. She understood the implication. The Romulans were mining something dangerous on the nearby planet, and it was probably something very valuable to them, given the level of security around the system.

"Tell me, T'Pol," said Javon, "Have you ever met a Romulan?"

T'Pol looked at him. He wasn't supposed to know about her father, but intelligence officers always knew more than they were supposed to know.

"Even if I had, you know I wouldn't be at liberty to divulge that," she responded smoothly.

Javon nodded, and T'Pol hoped she hadn't given him any improper cues. She sensed this man could have read things in T'Pau's face if he really set his mind to it. She did her best to read his face, and she thought it was very likely he knew at least something of her recent troubles.

"Are you to be staying on the station?" he asked, "I could help you obtain a room here in the Vulcan section. It's very quiet. Ideal for meditation."

"Our captain has said he prefers us to sleep aboard our ship," she replied.

For a split second, Javon's eyes moved away from T'Pol and focused intently on something or someone behind her. It was a rare slip up for a Vulcan agent, since T'Pol clearly recognized that he didn't want her to know what had distracted him. She made no move to turn her head and in the direction he looked, but moments later she gestured toward the ship and asked Javon what he knew of its specifications. As he looked at the window, she quickly stole a glance to where he had looked. All she saw was a young male Vulcan seated in the corner sipping tea. Her glance was too quick to register that the young man had been staring at her the entire time she's been talking to Javon.

****

After T'Pol had left, Ston approached Javon and sat down. Javon looked at the young man intently. He still didn't know for sure why this Romulan boy was so interested in Commander T'Pol, but he wanted to find out. Not only was it his job to know these things, but he was actually curious about this situation. Javon had always been curious to a fault, and eventually he had chosen intelligence gathering as a career in order to make use of what was considered a personality flaw on Vulcan. Curiosity was of great benefit in his line of work.

Javon had been impressed with T'Pol, and he almost regretted luring her to the station. On the other hand, it was entirely possible that his reports would have brought T'Pol's ship to the station even before Javon had rewritten them to emphasize the station's part in the mining operation. It was usually Javon's habit to write his reports in such a way as to keep other intelligence officers _away_ from his territory, but Ston's incentives made it logical to do otherwise in this case. The boy, however, thought he had arranged some kind of spectacular coup, and Javon was content to let him believe that, given how good his payments were.

"You'll get your bonus," said Ston happily.

"Young man," said Javon, "control yourself. Anyone paying attention to you right now would realize immediately that you are not Vulcan. If you wish to continue your masquerade, I suggest you take up meditation."

Ston ignored this comment.

"What was she like?"

"Unremarkable," lied Javon. Now that he'd met T'Pol, he was more disquieted by the young man's interest in her.

"I thought she looked very remarkable," pouted Ston.

Javon stood up.

"That is none of my concern," he said, glad the final payment would be delivered soon.

****

The away team met, as planned at 13:00 hours. They were all grateful that nothing out of the ordinary had as yet happened. Away missions going without a hitch were still somewhat abnormal.

"I counted over 82 languages being spoken," said Hoshi, "and I didn't even recognize 20 of then."

"This place is amazing," said Trip, "It's glued together from spare parts that come from all over. Vulcan conduits. Andorian power couplings. Tellarite protein sequencers. There's even Starfleet technology evident in their communications systems."

"It was probably stolen from _Enterprise_," said Malcolm.

"What's it like in the Vulcan section?" asked Hoshi, innocently.

Trip officially knew about T'Pol's meeting with Javon. Malcolm knew unofficially, but Hoshi didn't know at all. She knew they were gathering information about the Romulans, but she didn't need to know that there was a Vulcan agent on the station.

"It is exactly as one would expect a Vulcan section of the station to be. We should get back to the main security area," said T'Pol, "It may take as long as an hour to get through the checkpoints."

She flipped open her communicator.

"T'Pol to Captain Archer. We're returning to the ship, once we've cleared security."

"Don't bother," snapped Archer's voice, "We're under quarantine. The harbor master says that their systems detected a pathogen in one of our cargo bays. They aren't letting anyone on or off the ship until they've isolated it."

It was nonsense, as _Enterprise_ had very sophisticated systems to prevent such occurrences.

"Did the harbor master solicit a bribe in exchange for overlooking the pathogen?"

"How'd you know?" asked the captain, sheepishly.

"It's a common ploy. It might be advisable to pay it."

"Not on your life," responded Archer, "I'd rather let you extend your away mission than submit to blackmail. Continue as you were. Get whatever information you can and report back to me every eight hours. Archer out."

Trip smirked a little. He could feel T'Pol's irritation with the captain's stubborn streak. No doubt she would have just paid the bribe and written it off as the cost of doing business.

"Well," said Malcolm, "it looks like we'll need to find a place to stay tonight."

T'Pol thought briefly of the Vulcan section but rejected it. She didn't want Javon to have an opportunity to further observe her.

"I'll go to the information desk and see if I can book us rooms," said Hoshi.

"Anywhere but the Vulcan section," said T'Pol.

****

Later that afternoon, Trip and T'Pol found their way into a bright, large suite with an expansive window overlooking the planet below. Hoshi had found herself and Malcolm small interior rooms with a view of the hydroponic gardens, but double occupancy rooms were bigger and had the space view. Trip looked around and was impressed. It wasn't as nice as the Romulan warbird, but it was better than he expected. The bed was large and piled high with pillows. The decor was sparse, but a vase of fresh flowers brightened up the room. There was a suite of furniture in front of the window and a large abstract painting on the wall.

Hoshi had said this "hotel section" offered the best accommodations on the station - certainly better than the Vulcan section, which was known to be spartan.

Trip was thankful T'Pol hadn't shown any interest in Vulcan austerity. Their room was bigger than their quarters on the ship and looked plenty comfy.

"This away mission is starting to feel like a vacation," said Trip as he began to explore the room.

"Don't humans have a saying about not mixing business with pleasure," replied T'Pol as she sat down in one of the chairs in front of the window.

Hoshi had explained to the hotel's management that they had all become trapped on the station without any luggage. The management had provided "survival kits" with toiletries and other items humanoids without luggage might require. The desk clerk also instructed them to place their dirty clothes in the the laundry receptacle and promised they would be cleaned and delivered by early morning.

"There's a huge bathtub in here," said Trip from the bathroom, "Huh. You can have a water bath or a liquid nitrogen bath or a hydrochloric acid bath. Remind me to pay close attention to the buttons."

"You are the last person I would expect to make a mistake regarding the settings of such a simple device," said T'Pol without irony.

Trip smiled and joined her by the window. He sat down in the chair across from her.

"How did your meeting with the Vulcan go?" he asked with a serious tone. "You can tell me, I've got full clearance on this mission."

"It was. . .interesting. He has provided no more information that what could be gleaned from his report. The Romulans are mining some unknown substance, and they are using several traders at this station as part of their supply chain. Javon seemed more interesting in getting information from me than giving it to me."

She spent of few moments briefing her on the exact nature of their conversation, and he in turn, reported on what he and Malcolm had found out around the station. His information aligned with Javon's intelligence.

"What's he like?"

"He's a Vulcan that has been living among out-worlders for decades," she said cooly, "and it shows in his manner."

Trip sensed immediately why this made T'Pol nervous.

"Living in a place as rough as this station for a long time," he said smoothly, "would have an effect on just about anyone - even a Vulcan."

T'Pol appreciated his sentiments, so much so she allowed a little of the bond energy, which she had been blocking since they arrived on the station, to flow between them. Trip reached over, and the two joined fingers. The little stream of energy became a fast-running river. Trip fully understood how nervous Javon had made T'Pol.

"I've not met the guy," said Trip, "but I already know you're nothing like him."

T'Pol was skeptical and said nothing. Gradually, he felt her suppressing her nervousness.

"Glad you're feeling better," said he said.

"Would you care to join me for meditation?"

"Perhaps later," said Trip, "Would you care to join me for a bath?"

T'Pol raised the familiar eyebrow. She had become accustomed to showering with her husband, but she hadn't ever taken a bath with him.

"C'mon," he said as he stood up, "It'll be nearly as relaxing as meditation."

****

Malcolm and Hoshi each had their own room, but they were adjoined. About an hour after arriving, Malcolm heard Hoshi knock on his door.

"Do you have a sauna in your room?" she asked.

"No," he said, "I have whirlpool tub."

"I've only got a shower," she said, "but I've got a sauna. Care to join me?"

Malcolm grinned, and she took that as an affirmative.

"There's probably a bathrobe hanging in the closet," said Hoshi, "I'll see you in a bit."

Malcolm took off his clothes and donned the fluffy robe that Hoshi had correctly predicted would be in his closet. He wondered for a second just how friendly Hoshi's invitation was but thought it best to err on the side of friend-friendly. He strode casually into her bathroom and saw the door to the sauna.

"There's an extra towel out there," she said.

Malcolm hung up his robe and wrapped the towel around his waist. Inside the sauna, he found Hoshi lying on her back, covered completely by a towel.

"I think they make these towels for Klingons," she sighed.

Malcolm silently agreed. He had seen her less covered in decon many times.

"Be careful of the controls," she continued, "You can turn up the heat to 500 degrees."

Malcolm spooned some water on the rocks and created a burst of steam. Then, he jumped on the opposite bench from Hoshi and closed his eyes.

"This is way better than decon," he said.

"Yeah," she replied, "No Phlox watching us."

He peered out one eye at Hoshi, who was covered in beads of sweat with her eyes closed, a dreamy smile on her face.

"Thanks for inviting me," said Malcolm.

"We'll have to try your hot tub tomorrow," sighed Hoshi.

"It's a date," said Malcolm, "assuming we're lucky enough to still be here."

"It turned into a working vacation pretty quick," said Hoshi, "which I do not object to."

Malcolm stretched out and cricked his neck.

"I wonder how the newlyweds are enjoying it," replied Malcolm, "I'm sure their happy to have some time alone and away from the ship. T'Pol sure seemed all business this morning, but I'll bet they are making the most of their time."

"I would if I were them," said Hoshi a little wistfully.

"Were you surprised when they came back from Vulcan married? After the Terra Prime incident, I never would of thought it possible," said Malcolm.

"A little I guess," said Hoshi, "but it is very Vulcan cohere with someone who shares your deep grief like that. So, it's really not that surprising. And even before that, everyone and I mean _everyone_ on the ship knew they were involved. I'm happy for them."

Malcolm inhaled the air, and Hoshi sat up and punched a button on the side controls.

"This is supposed to add some kind of aroma therapy. It has a few human scents, but there's an Andorian one here. Feeling brave? It's not like we can't just turn it off."

"Go right ahead. . ." said Malcolm.

Soon, a sweet but somewhat acidic smell filled the room.

"That will open your sinuses," sad Hoshi.

"Sure will. I'm glad Trip and T'Pol stayed on the ship. It will be interesting to see how it all works out, but I am glad Starfleet allowed them to stay on while married. People should have a chance to lead normal lives in deep space."

The smell was becoming stronger and stronger. Malcolm noticed color spots of blue, green and purples dancing on the interior of his eyelids. He opened his eyes. The room seemed unstable, as if the space of the sauna was endanger of collapsing into a micro-singularity. He looked over to Hoshi, and she appeared strange. She was lying in the same position as she had been, but to Malcolm she seemed cocooned in white, cotton candy-like light.

"Malcolm," she said, "I think we better switch to the eucalyptus scent. Are you seeing things?"

"Yes," he said, "and I think I'm in love with the universe."

"That's nice," she said, "Hopefully this will wear off soon. You're cocoon looks cozy, though."

With that, Hoshi closed her eyes again.

***

Ston paced back and forth in his quarters at the Vulcan section. He had bribed the registration clerk into making certain that T'Pol would be given rooms across the hall from him, but his sister had apparently decided to stay elsewhere on the station. No doubt she wanted to be closer to her human companions. Perhaps her husband was with her, as well.

Ston wrinkled his nose a the thought of his sister's husband. He knew little about him and tried to think of them man even less. All Ston knew was that the man was human, from Earth and worked as the engineer on his sister's starship. It seemed a very wrong choice to marry outside Vulcan society, but the thought that she had done that was intriguing to Ston. He knew little about humans, but they were known to be emotional and un-Vulcan. It seemed unlikely she could have made such a match by choice. It was probably forced on her for some reason.

Ston flipped through several photos of his sister on his data screen. He had her official Starfleet photo, a photo of her as she arrived at his father's cottage, a photo of her graduation from the science academy on her planet, a photo of her as a stern looking little girl standing next to father. . .the pictures went on and on. Looking at them, Ston felt robbed. He should have known that woman in the pictures. She should have been there for him when he was a boy. Father could have seen to that, but instead he abandoned his daughter. Ston had to make it up to her somehow, but he needed to find out where she was. The bribe he'd paid to the harbor master had ensured she would remain on the station for at least a few days, but he had thought for certain she would stay among her own kind.

As if to punish himself for his own error in thinking, Ston hit his hand against the table hard.

Then, he picked up his communicator and buzzed Maleek.

"My sister is somewhere on the station. I need to know where she is staying."

Maleek sighed.

"We'll find out for you, if we can."

Ston was about to yell that he had better find out, but he stopped. He had no real power over Maleek, and his friend was starting to sour on their endeavor.

"I'll be waiting," said Ston.

****

The oversized titanium tub in Trip and T'Pol's quarters not only fit both of them nicely, but it heated the water continuously so it didn't get cold. Trip, who suspected the thing might be built for Klingons, had drawn it to a pleasantly warm temperature, and they sat facing each other, each with their back against an end of the tub.

"This can't be a completely foreign concept to you," said Trip, "I know there was a bathing pool at your Mom's house."

"Yes," said T'Pol, "but bathing is done alone on Vulcan as part of the cleansing of emotions, and we certainly don't use bubbles."

Trip had one of T'Pol's dainty feet in his hand and was applying pressure to one of her neural nodes.

"But the principle is the same. Warm water. Muscles loosening. Relaxation."

"We use warm water to tend to injuries, but normally are baths are kept at the exact Vulcan body temperature in order to create a sense of balance."

She closed her eyes when he hit a particularly sensitive spot in her arch, and she made a soft moan.

"I wonder how Lt. Sato and Lt. Commander Reed are doing," said T'Pol.

"How is it that you are thinking about them?" asked Trip, amused.

"It is likely they will not find being stranded on the station as pleasurable as you have," she said.

"I'll wager not," said Trip, whose fingers were now working on the place where her little toe joined her foot.

T'Pol had her hands at either side of the tub, but she reached with her other foot to gently rub up and down Trip's thigh.

"I thought you didn't want to mix business with pleasure," he teased.

"I never said that," she replied, "I only said that I believe humans warn against the practice. Personally, I believe it is logical to make use of our time in this unexpected environment."

Trip let her foot drop back into the water, and reached for her hands, pulling her across the tub to him. His mouth found hers in a deep, searching kiss. Her arms came up around his neck and her legs straddled his sides under the water. His hands found her breasts, and he teased and tweaked them without breaking from the kiss. After awhile, he moved his lips to her ear and nibbled the point while whispering to her.

"Ashayam," he said.

In answer, she clutched him tighter and gasped with pleasure. He pressed the mechanism to drain the water from the tub. As it quickly disappeared, he flipped her over on her back and admired her form, which was still covered in bubbles. Instinctively, she brushed a cluster of bubbles out of his hair, and then pulled him down for another long kiss. Soon, he found his way inside her, and she wrapped her legs tightly around him.

"Beloved," she whispered in his ear.

****

Malcolm and Hoshi, thinking it best to not leave their rooms in their condition, had ordered room service from the hotel. The kitchen had actually contacted Enterprise and was able to concoct a traditional Japanese Udon for Hoshi and some British-style Indian food for Malcolm - with pineapple ice cream for dessert.

The two of them, in their bathrobes, sat on Malcolm's bed while examining the food. Malcolm was slurping Udon noodles while Hoshi sampled some Tandori chicken.

"This doesn't taste anything like what I ate in India. You Brits have really outdone yourself making Indian food bland. . ."

"I don't think it's that bland in London. It probably just a bad copy. . .do you still love everything? Because I love everything."

Hoshi chewed very, very carefully on her chicken.

"I love everything but this chicken. . .you know, as much as I don't want this to wear off. I do because I don't want anyone to know how stupid we were to test that Andorian aromatherapy."

"It was a breach of protocol," said Malcolm, "Never inhale an unknown alien substance."

Hoshi looked out the window to all the plants and flowers in the garden.

"So pretty," she sighed, "I should have been a botanist."

"You're the second best linguist on Earth."

"Well, maybe I could have been the best botanist on Earth," sighed Hoshi wistfully.

Malcolm looked over at Hoshi. Her body was still surrounded by white wisps of light that seems to resemble strings of DNA unfurled. He wondered if that was Hoshi's soul. She had a very pretty soul.

"Hey, Malcolm," she said, "You look all gooey."

She reached up and tried to touch his face but missed.

"I think this stuff affects your depth perception," she said.

"What the chicken?"

"No. . .not that. Boy, this better wear off tomorrow," she said a little sadly, "but the idea makes me sad."

Malcolm leaned over and placed his head on Hoshi's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said, "If it's any consolation, I love you."

"You love everything, Malcolm," said Hoshi, "and I think I do as well. Including you."

"We have that in common," he replied with a slightly soft giggle.

Hoshi wanted to ask if he meant that they both loved Malcolm or that they loved each other, but she got distracted by some dancing blobs of color on the ceiling.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything, perhaps even my soul.

Rating: This chapter is tame, R mostly for drug use, alcohol use, prostitution references and general creepiness. No explicit sex in this chapter.

First thing the next morning, Captain Archer paced on the bridge. Four of his bridge officers were trapped on the station because he refused to pay bribe. It infuriated him, but he choked down the anger. It wasn't as though they weren't making good use of the time. The exterior of the ship was being painted, and Archer had ordered some readjustments of the phase canons that could be performed while they were still under this ridiculous quarantine. In the meantime, he ordered a light duty schedule for the crew who were stuck onboard.

"Travis," he said, "join me in the Captain's mess for breakfast?"

"Yes, sir," said Travis, who always enjoyed the special food served during his meals with the captain.

Soon, the two were dining on eggs benedict. Archer also ordered up a pitcher of bloody marys to go with the breakfast.

"Sir," said Travis, "Aren't we on duty?"

"Not thanks to the harbor master," he said as he poured Travis a glass.

"Have you heard from the away team?" asked Travis.

"T'Pol checked in this morning. Hoshi found them all digs in the most respectable place on that station. The team is going to spend the day doing more recon around the station. Perhaps this fiasco is a blessing in disguise. The more information we have heading over to the Romulan mining planet, the better."

Travis put a generous helping of eggs benedict in his mouth and chewed slowly. When he finished, he spoke.

"I've been to dozens of stations like this. They tend to be great places to get anything you want - especially information. They are also places where it is easy to get into trouble. In fact, trouble's probably the only commodity more common than information on a station like this."

Travis continued with several long and involved anecdotes from his childhood designed to elucidate just what kind of place the station probably was. One included his father getting mugged by a trio of Tellerites, the other involved the Horizon's cargo being stolen by a non-humanoid race. Archer downed his bloody mary and tossed a piece of bacon to Porthos.

"Well," he replied, "I'm glad T'Pol's in charge. She dislikes trouble more than I do. Hopefully, she'll keep the rest of them from getting too adventurous."

****

Trip and T'Pol had breakfast in their room, over looking the planet. Again, with information from Enterprise, the hotel had managed to prepare a reasonable breakfast of both human and Vulcan origins.

"How is the coffee?" asked T'Pol.

"Not terrible," said Trip, "but I've had better. The beans for this certainly weren't grown on Earth."

They had been going over the information Trip and Malcolm had gathered the day before and were trying to determine the best use of their time for the day.

"Bottom line," said Trip, "The only thing we really need to know is what the Romulans are mining on that planet. Everything else is just . . ."

"Interference," completed T'Pol.

"If it comes to war," said Trip, "I'll wager the alliance will want to stop the Romulans from getting whatever it is they are getting from there."

"There's a reasonable chance that whatever their mining will be of military use, but it is possible that they are mining something that has limited practical value."

"Romulan blood diamonds," said Trip.

T'Pol was puzzled, as she had never heard the term.

"Before diamonds could be perfectly manufactured on earth," he continued, "they could only be mined from certain regions, usually poor regions. Rich people didn't just want them for industrial purposes, either. They were used in jewelry - like the Crown Jewels of England or the Hope Diamond. Long story short, miserable wars were fought over rocks that people thought were pretty, but when they became common suddenly they weren't so pretty anymore and the wars ended. Diamonds still have industrial uses, but they stopped signifying eternal love over a century ago."

T'Pol sipped on her tea and looked down at the planet below them.

"It is inadvisable to speculate at to the nature of the mining operation," said T'Pol, "We should be able to determine what they are mining in due course."

A ping came through on the hotel's communication system, and T'Pol brought up a message on the vid screen embedded in the table. Javon was inviting her and Trip the Vulcan section.

T'Pol thought for a moment, unsure of what the invitation meant. Was Javon just being friendly or did he have more intelligence for her?

"Javon wishes for us to join him for the afternoon meal."

"Both of us? Should we go?"

"It seems like a good use of time. He might be able to provide more information. Do you wish to come?"

Though she didn't outwardly show it, the invitation had taken T'Pol aback and piqued her curiosity. Trip sensed it.

"I've got no other plans," he said.

"You will likely be the only non-Vulcan in that section of the station."

"Wouldn't be the first time I've been the only non Vulcan somewhere with you. It'll be fine. I guess Malcolm and Hoshi will have to entertain themselves."

****

"How do you feel, Malcolm?" asked Hoshi as the water from the hot tub swirled around her aching body.

"I'm not seeing the white cocoons anymore," replied Malcolm, who sat across from her in the tub, "but my muscles still ache like hell."

The hot tub was decontaminated by a green algae rather than chlorine, so the water felt clean despite being an opaque green. Malcolm was grateful for the color, as neither of them had swimsuits and both desperately needed to soak their muscles. The water prevented either of them from seeing something that they didn't need to see just then.

"Mine, too. It must be whatever the hell that was working out of our systems," she said.

"Thank god T'Pol didn't demand to have breakfast with us this morning."

Malcolm reached up and grabbed a pastry from a tray that he had brought in from Hoshi's room. The attendant had delivered their breakfast along with their uniforms early that morning.

"Are you sure you don't want one?" asked Malcolm, gesturing to the tray.

Hoshi sipped on some juice and shook her head.

"I'm still full from last night," she replied, "I can't believe how much I ate."

"I hope we won't have to report this," said Malcolm, "but if this doesn't wear off completely, we're going to have tell T'Pol what happened."

Hoshi glanced at Malcolm. He knew she was thinking he was the biggest goody two shoes ever.

"I think we'll be fine. I don't even see colors when I close my eyes anymore. I'm just going to be tired today. Did you get any sleep at all?"

Malcolm shook his head.

No, but it sure was an interesting night."

Hoshi grinned.

"That's for sure. I kind of don't regret it. How about you?"

"Not remotely," he said, "Now, lieutenant, shut your eyes. I'm going to get out of the tub and get dressed."

"Oh you're no fun," said Hoshi, closing her eyes.

Malcolm lifted himself out of the water and quickly found a towel to wrap around himself. He didn't look back to see if Hoshi was peeking, but he hoped that she was.

****

A few hours later, Trip Tucker found himself on the strangest double date of his life, and he certainly wasn't the only non-Vulcan in the Vulcan Section. He sat in the cafe across of a Vulcan intelligence officer and his Orion girlfriend. The girlfriend wore her hair in a Vulcan style and dressed in Vulcan robes, which frankly looked absurd. It wasn't like she was fooling anyone, and Trip couldn't help but wonder what the other Vulcans on the station thought of this woman, not to mention the man who put her in those clothes.

Whatever the case, Trip already knew what the Vulcan sitting next to him thought, and he was concentrating on suppressing the bond enough so that she wouldn't realize how hilarious her reaction was to him. Despite being dressed in a human uniform and being accompanied by a human husband, T'Pol was utterly scandalized that a Vulcan would pair off with an Orion and that the Orion woman would even attempt to affect a Vulcan manner.

"Tell me, Arian, do you use your unique form of control only on Javon or do you apply it to other men on the ship?"

"Oh," she said, "I apply to anyone who strikes my fancy - men, women . . .androgynous, it's all good. But with Javon, he can block me with his mind. That's what drew me to him. I relish a challenge. Vulcans are so very challenging, don't you think so Commander Tucker? "

Trip felt her Orion pheromones as they were bouncing off his brain, as if to say "no luck here, sister." T'Pol was confident enough in the bond not to be worried, but he could tell she found the woman appalling. He found the situation so amusing that he wished the cafe served beer so he could better enjoy himself.

"Challenging in a good way," said Trip.

"So you know what I mean?' she said, playing with a strand of her inky black hair.

"Why have you asked us here, Javon?" said T'Pol, affecting the most blunt and Vulcan tone he'd heard her use in years.

"Why to be social, of course," replied Javon, "I know it isn't very Vulcan, but I believe humans enjoy socializing almost as much as Orions."

Trip looked down at the display of bland Vulcan food before him. Even the tea served at this place was boring, but at least the company was anything but boring. T'Pol, didn't believe for a moment that Javon brought them there as a friendly gesture. He didn't either. At the very least, the man was sizing them both up. Unlike Malcolm and T'Pol, Trip wasn't trained in intelligence, but he knew enough about the trade that every move anyone made was a chance to gain an advantage. But that road went both ways, and he was sizing up Javon as a master of a game whose rules he didn't know. Hell, he didn't even know what constituted winning, but he did sense that Javon was both overconfident and someone with conflicting loyalties.

Trip took a sip of his tea and resolved to have a long talk with Malcolm about spy craft. At that moment, T'Pol stood up and excused herself to the facilities. Trip wasn't certain if she really needed to go, or if she was looking for an excuse to contact the ship or take notes or something. She had become inscrutable.

"So," said Trip, "how'd you two meet?"

"Javon was a client at a business that used to employ me," said Arian.

Trip knew exactly what kind of business she meant, and so he didn't press for specifics. He looked up at Javon's serene Vulcan countenance.

_Every seven years my ass,_ he thought.

****

T'Pol looked in the mirror of the ladies room and sighed deeply. Inadvertently, she had done the worst thing an agent could do, she had piqued the curiosity of another agent. On the other hand, the fact that Javon treated her like an asset rather than a colleague spoke volumes about the man's loyalty or, more accurately, the mutable nature of it. The man no longer did his job out of loyalty to Vulcan, of that she was sure. He was a man who never did anything unless it benefited him personally.

T'Pol composed herself. It wasn't as though she wasn't in control of the situation. She, too, had learned a great deal about him during their two encounters, and she would have quite a report to write. What she hadn't decided is if she would recommend Starfleet send it on to Vulcan Intelligence. They usually took her advice on such matters, as far she she knew.

She took a deep breath and felt her emotions drifting down to the bottom of her consciousness.

She left the ladies room and saw a young Vulcan man standing in the dark hallway.

"Good Afternoon," he said in Vulcan. His accent was peculiar, and T'Pol assumed he must have grown up on a colony rather than on Vulcan.

"Good Afternoon," she said.

"You're from the human starship," he said.

"Yes," she replied.

The young man took a step forward. He looked her up and down in a way that was terribly un-Vulcan. He definitely had been raised on a colony.

"That's a human uniform," he stated.

"Yes," she said, "Now if you'll excuse me. . ."

"You can't trust Javon. He doesn't care what happens to you," said Ston, "He doesn't want to help you."

T'Pol said nothing.

"I can help you. I _want_ to help you."

She remained silent for a long time, looking over the young man's clothes and taking note of the unusual way carried himself. He also smelled different, for a Vulcan.

"How could you help me?"

"I know what they are mining at the Romulan colony," he blurted.

She raised an eyebrow.

"I can get you a sample of it," he said.

"Why would you do that?" she asked.

"Because someone should know what they are doing, and I don't trust Javon to give the information to the Vulcans."

"I don't work for the Vulcans," she said.

Ston walked up to her, standing very close into her personal space. There was something very wrong about him. He also seemed to know who she was, and she didn't like that this far into the frontier.

"But the people you work for - the humans, they want to know what is being mined on the Romulan planet. Wouldn't you like to give it them?"

"How do you know what they are mining?"

Ston leaned closer.

"I have sources."

"What do you want in return?"

"Nothing."

She didn't believe him.

"Just want to do my part," he said.

"When can you get this sample to me?"

"This afternoon," he said, "I can get it to you this afternoon at 5 o'clock station time. Meet me in the center of the catwalk on main observation deck. Come alone."

The young man reached up and brushed the side of T'Pol's cheek. He was not Vulcan, that she knew.

"I'll see you then," said Ston, as he slipped away.

****

"You're not even considering going alone, I hope," said Trip.

They had returned to their room and were waiting for Malcolm and Hoshi to arrive.

"I will consult Lt. Commander Reed regarding proper Starfleet protocols for such a situation," replied T'Pol.

Trip sat down on the couch by the window.

"I don't like the way this guy spooked you," replied Trip, and don't even try to deny it. You're spooked I can feel it."

She sat down next to him and leaned into an embrace, confirming just how off-put she was. He put his arms around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I don't believe he is a Vulcan," she said.

"You think he's a Romulan spy, then," he replied.

"No," she said, "He's not a trained spy. He was too transparent. I don't know what he is or what he wants, and that is disconcerting."

She remained quiet for a time after that, and he let the silence remain in the room. Then, they found themselves discussing the situation with the quarantine and how soon they thought they might return to the ship. Suddenly, returning to the ship felt like a very good idea to both of them. They might need to stay around the station for awhile longer, but the ship offered some measure of protection from whatever it was about this station that felt so threatening.

The chime on the door rang. T'Pol stood up and pressed the control that would allow her to see who was on the other side of the door. She then activated the control to open it.

Malcolm and Hoshi entered, looking worn-out tired and sick. Not just a little bit sick, but both of them looked as though they had been through an ion storm.

"Are you two alright?" asked Trip, "Because you both look like hell."

"We didn't get much sleep," replied Hoshi, "There was a chemical in the sauna steam that kept us awake most of the night."

Malcolm glanced over at her. Since they were both feeling better, they had decided to not explain the exact details of what had occurred, but he supposed telling mostly the truth was a good avenue.

"Do you require a doctor?" asked T'Pol.

"We'll have Phlox take a look when we get back to the ship as a precaution," replied Hoshi, "but I think we're both feeling better."

Trip wanted to ask what they were doing in the sauna together, but he'd need to get to that when her and Malcolm were off duty. Instead, the four of them sat down and planned for T'Pol's afternoon meeting with the strange Romulan. T'Pol even decided to brief Hoshi on all the details of their journey, including the identity of her contact. Since the four of them were effectively on their own for the next couple of days, it made no sense to withhold any information, especially since Hoshi's linguistic skills were going to be necessary to confirm the young man was Romulan.

"I've only heard snatches of the language, but I'm guessing I could recognize Vulcan spoken in a Romulan accent," said Hoshi.

"I'll record our entire conversation," said T'Pol, "Malcolm, it is imperative that this person thinks I am there alone. However, I don't believe he is trained in such matters. It shouldn't be too risky to try and fool him."

Malcolm pushed aside the aches and the headache and concentrated on the map they had obtained of the main observation deck. Fortunately, the catwalk was out in the open, and thus it was unlikely that T'Pol's contact was going to attempt any foul play. Malcolm carefully developed a plan in which he would cover her from a position in a small balcony just above the main observation catwalk, where he could secure a position with a phase pistol without being seen. Trip would cover the T'Pol the south entrance of the catwalk, making sure no one approached her from behind. The north entrance would be uncovered, but T'Pol would have an excellent view. She would also have a phase pistol in her bag.

It was the best plan Malcolm could come up with his limited resources, and he hoped it would be enough.

****

Ston waited patiently on the catwalk for his sister to arrive. It spanned several hundred meters across the center of a massive window that was twenty decks high and overlooked the planet below.

He couldn't wait to see T'Pol again and give her her present. It had been a brilliant idea that he had thought of the night before. He would give her something so valuable, so helpful to her cause, that she would just have to like him. She would be in his debt.

He reached into his pocket and fingered a small box made of Romulan lead, and he thought of how special the contents were. Very few people even in the Empire knew what they were mining on the nearby colony or its potential use. Ston knew because he had heard his father had discussed it with him several times, trying to get Ston interested in the strategic value of various systems in the area. Ston couldn't have cared less about that, but he did know what the element in his pocket meant.

It hadn't been easy for him to obtain in such a short time, but Maleek was already in contact with some Romulans associated with the mining operation aboard the station and was able to use Ston's family name to obtain the small sample. He sighed and thought that _there were advantages to being his father's son_. People did things - even extraordinary things - if you asked them.

He saw her appear on the north end of the catwalk, and he caught his breath. This was it. He stood up straight and waited for her to approach.

"Good afternoon," he said in Vulcan.

She nodded, and then she waited.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the little, lead box. He held it up in the palm of his hand. She reached up to take it, but he gently pulled it back.

"What was it like growing up on Vulcan?" he asked.

"Vulcan is an agreeable place," she said.

"Were you lonely after your father died?"

That startled her, and she paused before answering.

"Losing a parent is never an easy experience," she said carefully.

She examined the young man's features, and a thought crept into her head. Something in his carriage and the bone structure of his face struck her as familiar.

"No, it isn't," he said, "My mother died when I was young."

"My condolences," she replied and very carefully took the box from his hand.

Ston looked her directly in the eyes and smiled. He knew that she knew he wasn't Vulcan, he thought himself a fool to think he'd be able to fool her. No, she was too smart for that.

"Take it," he said, "and when you want more information about it, you can come and find me."

She nodded and realized she didn't want to turn her back on this person, but she didn't have an option. Walking in reverse would draw attention to her, and she didn't need that.

As she turned to go, she felt his eyes on her. She was very puzzled. Assuming whatever what in the box was genuine, why in Surak's name had he given it to her?


	7. Chapter 7

_Rating: R bordering on NC-17 for explicit sex, language and drug & alcohol use._

_Author's Note: _

_I have no idea if the McGuffin in this story has anything to do with canon, but the Romulans had to be up to something very serious. _

Enme crossed the busy street outside the capital building on Romulus. People who saw him, generally got out of his way, given that he was wearing an Imperial Guard Uniform and carried himself like he had somewhere important to be. A couple of young women admired the uniform and the relatively young man in it, something he dutifully pretended to neither notice or be flattered by. If it were another time or place, he would have happily stopped to make conversation with the prettiest of the young women, but this day he had too many pressing concerns to indulge in such distractions.

There was a young woman standing on the steps of the capitol building that he did notice, however. She also wore an imperial uniform and the boxy-haircut that went along with it, though her hair and eyes were much darker than his.

"Ravel," he said in his own language, "you look well."

"Good to see you, Enme," said Ravel, "It's been a long time. In fact, the last time I saw you was when we graduated from the military academy. How many years ago was that?"

"Too many," replied Enme, "I was sent far away after that. Father thought I needed toughing up."

She had heard that the ProConsul had sent his favorite, eldest son to the toughest battle zones of the Empire as an attempt to some how make up for his son's privileged upbringing.

"I hear you acquitted yourself admirably," said Ravel.

"I've heard the same about you," said Enme, "that you went deep undercover on Vulcan and provided father with copious amounts of intelligence. I never would have pegged you to go into intelligence. I guess that shows how much I knew you."

Ravel looked up at Enme, who was nearly a head taller than she, and smiled.

"You never really knew me at all," she laughed, "not that I would have allowed myself to become another notch on your belt, Enme. I have too much pride for that."

Enme smirked. His womanizing ways had slowed down quite a bit since the academy, but there was no need for Ravel to know that.

"How's his mood?" asked Enme.

Ravel gestured to the section of the capitol where the ProConsul's office was located.

"He's tense," she replied, "Did he tell you about my recent assignment? The special, personal assignment?"

Enme nodded. He had received a long letter along with orders to return to Romulus. Apparently, his father had an errand that he wanted run, and he only trusted Enme to do it.

"What was she like?" he asked.

"She's admirable," replied Ravel, "and she's no ordinary Vulcan. She's not as afraid of her emotions as most of them. I suppose that should be expected, but she's not one of us, either. I'll wager she doesn't have the taste for copper blood that runs particularly acute in your family."

Enme was wearing the black gloves that went along with the imperial uniform, but it was a hot day, so he removed them and put them in his coat pocket. He looked down at his hands and wondered if Vulcan hands looked the same. He supposed they probably did.

"You're taller," continued Ravel, "but she looks enough like you. I knew exactly who she was the moment I set eyes on her."

Enme shook his head.

"Father thinks Ston has gone off to try and find her," he said simply.

"You know Ston better than I," she said, "Do you think he would be that reckless?"

Enme thought fro a moment. He was was closer to Ston that his two younger brothers, and even he didn't really understand what went on in the young man's head.

"I doubt he would see it as reckless," replied Enme,"He would see it as - romantic, and that is what frightens me."

"I assume you're going to have to go after him," she said.

"It appears so," replied Enme, "Would you be interested in joining me? But I'll warn you, I doubt we'll be traveling in a first class warbird. Not this time"

"You're father would never let me go," she said, sounding somewhat disappointed.

Enme tried to not look too crestfallen, but he didn't relish heading out into no man's land by himself.

****

The evening after obtaining the box, T'Pol and Trip worked together to secure the contents of the in one of the labs on _Enterprise_. As much as they enjoyed their time alone, it was a blessed relief to be back aboard the ship where they felt secure and in control of their surroundings. The captain didn't want to leave space dock without knowing what, if anything valuable had been obtained, but even docked _Enterprise_ felt more secure than the wide open station. There were just too many strange variables there.

Safely ensconced behind radiation proof transparent aluminum, T'Pol used a robotic arm to open the box. Inside, there were some hard, white crystals that could have been any number of elements. However, when she dropped them into the scanner, it did not recognize the crystals. T'Pol looked over the data and was suddenly relieved that they hadn't opened the box. The element appeared highly radioactive.

"Commander," she said to Trip in her most professional tone, "come look at this."

Trip examined the screen next to her and caught his breath. His heart started to beat faster.

"I've never seen anything like it," he said, "This makes uranium look like child's play."

"The Vulcan Science Directorate has heard rumors of such an element, but they have not ever confirmed its existence. If this is what I think it is, we may have a first sample of dilithium."

Trip reread the scans over and over. If the energy readings were correct, this stuff could power engines as fast as Warp 8 - maybe even 9. That didn't even include any possible military applications for the substance.

"Damn. No wonder the Romulans want this stuff," he said, feeling a bit weak in the knees. An enemy with ships that fast might prove unbeatable.

Trip looked at her. There was no way the alliance could allow the Romulans to continue accessing dilithium unchecked. If he were an admiral, and he was glad he wasn't, he knew exactly what planet he'd secure once the fighting broke out.

"Captain," said T'Pol into the comm, "Commander Tucker and I have discovered the nature of the substance. You'll want to see this in person."

Archer arrived just a few minutes later, and as the son of Henry Archer, he knew exactly what he was looking at and what it meant. Game changing didn't even begin to cover it.

"Do you think they know how to use this stuff?" he asked.

"We've never heard of them being able to travel faster than Warp 6," said T'Pol, "that would imply that haven't yet figured out how to adapt their engines to be powered by dilithium, but it is safe to assume they are working on it."

"We'll need to get a team to the planet where they are mining this," said Archer, "and see how extensive their operation is. We also need find out why a Romulan would give us this."

Archer paused for a moment and looked T'Pol straight in the eye.

"Although, I have a feeling he gave _you_ this, not us. You didn't recognize him? He didn't give you any hint?"

She shook her head.

"Do you think you could find him again?"

"Yes, Captain. He seemed to count on that."

In never failed to amaze Trip how collected T'Pol could appear, even when she was suppressing a case of nerves. There was no hint of anxiety in her face or her voice. In fact, he could feel the feelings inside her just slipping away. Emotional control was a constant process for her.

"We might just have to do that," said Archer, "but we will also need to confirm that this is in fact what they are mining. My gut tells me it is, but we'll need more than that before filing a report with Starfleet. It's time to bring Malcolm in on this. I'm sure he'll have suggestions on how best to proceed. We're going to have to get in - get the evidence and get out. Then, we'll come back here and figure who the hell decided we should have this information."

"Sir," said Trip, "it could be a trap. This guy, whoever he was, could be trying to lure us there so they can. . . blow us out of the sky."

"Possible," said T'Pol, "but I fail to see why it would be logical to destroy Earth's flagship. Such an action near such a strategic site wouldn't be logical. If war comes, they would want it far away from this system."

"Romulans don't strike me as all that logical," said Trip.

"We'll just have to be extra careful," said Archer, "I'll give Malcolm a few hours to come up with a strategic plan, then we'll be on our way."

****

Enme sat comfortably in the chair across from his father's desk, shaking his head in frustration.

"Father," he said, "surely Ravel would make a more appropriate choice. She has recent experience in retrieval. I've never even left Romulan Space on that side of our borders. I've never met a Vulcan, nor am I interested in masquerading as one."

The ProConsul's chair was turned toward the window, his back to his favorite son. He swiveled around and faced him.

"Ston has come undone," he said softly, "and I fear there is no saving him, but you are the one I trust to try."

Enme nodded.

"What do you think he wants with her?"

The ProConsul didn't move and his face showed no expression. He pulled up a photograph on his screen. It was of Ston as a small child, along with his deceased mother.

"He never adapted after his mother died. He never accepted us as his family, even before then. He wants her to be his family."

Enme had never had much of an interest in his long-lost older sister. He and his full brothers hadn't even known of her existence until they were adults. Ston only knew because their father had been trying to explain why he had taken Ston away from his home. Several times, Ston had tried to engage Enme in conversations about her, that in hindsight, suggested an unhealthy obsession.

"I've transferred a dossier on her to you," said the ProConsul, "Read it on your way. Ideally, you won't encounter her, but we both know this is a less than ideal situation."

Enme nodded to his father, and he wished fervently he was back at his training station with his men. Things were uncomplicated there.

"Good Luck," said The ProConsul, who turned to stare at the window again. Enme knew that was his cue to leave, which he happily did.

****

"It's glowing," said Malcolm, as he stared at the dilithium.

"What do you mean?" asked Trip.

"Don't you see the glow? It's emanating some sort of radiation or something."

"The radiation it emits shouldn't be visible to the human eye," said T'Pol.

The three of them stood behind the barrier in the lab, staring at the small crystals.

"Well," said Malcolm, "unless I've gone mad, I can see them."

T'Pol approached Malcolm and examined his eyes.

"Can Vulcans see them glowing?" asked Malcolm as he widened his pupils.

"No," said T'Pol, "Vulcan sight isn't as acute as human sight. Even the color spectrum we can see is slightly less than the one human's see."

"Maybe its genetic," suggested Trip, "Maybe Malcolm's got a trait that lets him see it."

T'Pol kept examining Malcolm and crinkled her brow.

"Lt. Commander," she said, "Do you realize that your pupils are dilated?"

"No," said Malcolm.

"I suggest you see Phlox," she said.

"We'll my eyes have been a bit sensitive to light since Hoshi and I breathed in some Andorian aroma therapy last night."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

"Go see Phlox," she said, "and I'll have Lt. Sato join you. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am," said Malcolm.

He headed off to sickbay, as ordered.

Trip looked at T'Pol, his curiosity piqued.

"You don't think he's sick. What's up?"

T'Pol looked at him intently.

"Commander, it would be inappropriate for me to reveal personal information about Lt. Commander Reed's condition unless I can count on your discretion. The information is relevant. . ."

"Spill it."

"Andorians don't just enjoy their ale. They habitually inhale strong hallucinogens that they believe enhance their latent telepathic abilities. If Mr. Reed and Ms. Sato inhaled one of these substances, it might explain why his eyes are suddenly able to register a broader spectrum than normal. There might be other side effects as well."

Trip was suddenly not so amused.

"They could have really been hurt," he said.

"It seems they were lucky," replied T'Pol, "Only time will tell what, if any lasting effects the substance might have."

"I wonder if it was fun," said Trip, still looking worried.

"From what little I know," she replied, "the substances cause a general sense of euphoria as well as psychotropic visions."

"Well," said tentatively Trip, "at least we weren't the only one's enjoying ourselves last night."

She raised that familiar eyebrow, but she said nothing.

****

Ston and Maleek had had enough of the Vulcan Section, and since Ston didn't expect his sister to return for awhile, he didn't feel it necessary to be there. They instead, dined at a Tellarite establishment that had a nice view of _Enterprise_.

"You won't see her in the windows," said Maleek.

"No," said Ston, "but I like knowing she's there. I like knowing I did her a favor."

Maleek's stomach turned.

"A treasonous favor," he sighed. If he had known what Ston had intended to do with that dilithium sample, Maleek never would have given it to him. Ston had told him that he wanted the sample for his father, and that the ProConsul would greatly appreciated the favor. Maleek could kick himself for believing Ston, whom he had always found diverting, interesting and a little bit insane. Now, Maleek was starting to think Ston had gone a lot insane. However, his merchant family wasn't nearly as powerful as Ston's patrician one. He wasn't in a position to make an enemy of Ston.

Nevertheless, it was one thing helping Ston meet his long lost sister, but helping him pass industrial secrets to a Vulcan was quite another. Maleek was starting to feel in over his head, but he wasn't sure what he was going to do about it.

"Once I'm friends with my sister, " said Ston, "I'll have her introduce you to the linguist. The one you said was cute."

Maleek rolled his eyes. He had remarked that the human linguist, the first human female he had ever laid eyes on, was very pretty. However, Ston was letting his imagination run a little bit wild.

"Look," said Maleek, "you met your sister. You did her a really risky, very big favor. Maybe that should be enough. We could go home now. . ."

Ston threw down his fork in shock and frustration.

"She doesn't even know who I am yet," said Ston.

"There's no way of knowing if she'll be back," replied Maleek.

"She'll be back," said Ston.

Maleek sighed. This excursion was rapidly becoming less than fun.

****

Malcolm and Hoshi walked together side by side, leaving sickbay.

"I suppose we should feel lucky we didn't kill ourselves," said Hoshi.

"No," said Malcolm, "we'll just be feeling strange side effects for the next. . .six months or so. Not including being able to see otherwise invisible radiation, dilated pupils and spontaneous mild hallucinations."

"You don't get those normally?" she asked.

He gave a strange look.

"Kidding," she said, "You heard what Phlox said. It's nothing we can't control or handle, and he's going to be discreet about it."

"I just feel so stupid," he said.

"Hey," said Hoshi, "It was my idea. I'm the one who should feel stupid, but really in the grand scheme of things, this is better than most bad things that could happen."

They had reached Hoshi's quarters.

"Well," he said, "goodnight."

Hoshi looked up and down the hallway.

"Do you want to come in?"

Malcolm froze. He had no idea what to make of the invitation.

"I want to see if I can induce some of the hallucinations," she said, "for research purposes."

She quickly ushered Malcolm into her quarters, which were about the same size as his, with shelves filled with language books and mementos from their early missions. Hoshi stepped over to her console and turned on some ambient music. She turned off all the lights.

Malcolm was starting to feel a little awkward. He had no idea what she was about to do.

"Lie down," she said, gesturing to the bed. She clearly wanted his head at the foot.

Malcolm couldn't think of anything else to do, so he obeyed. She tossed him one of the pillows and grabbed another for herself.

"Scoot over," she said.

Again, he obeyed.

"Now we'll just listen to the music and look at the stars," she said, "I like them so much better when they are not a blur. Don't you?"

"They're getting kind of melty," said Malcolm.

"Uh huh," she replied wistfully.

****

It was nearly a week later when Enme's small vessel found its way to the Romulan mining planet. He had gotten some intelligence from the foreman that his brother had been seen on a nearby space station, but he wanted to stop off and speak to the man personally before heading off to the station. Standard intelligence reports over subspace could be notoriously inaccurate. Also, he wasn't quite ready to board a station filled with dozens of different unknown species. He thought the foreman would help him understand what to expect.

"Damn you, Ston," he said, exiting his vessel and taking in the small but sophisticated mining operation.

The foreman met him on the landing pad. He was a middle-aged man, chosen for his competence and loyalty to the empire.

"Good afternoon, sir" he said, with a nod that deferred to the younger man's rank and class.

"Good Afternoon," replied Enme.

"I believe that I have some news for you," he said, "I have word about your brother. He is currently at Hirku Station. It's no rumor. He's there, as of the report I got this morning. Moreover, he's contacted us asking if he can have some space here. I told him he could have one of the smaller out buildings that we're not using - as a favor to your family."

Enme nodded. It appears that Ston might be on his way to Enme, rather than Enme having to go to Ston.

****

"Malcolm thinks it will take at least two weeks for us to figure out a way to navigate a shuttlepod around the cloaked mines in order to get scans of the mining operation. That should give us plenty of time to modify the sensors to detect dilithium," said Trip.

The engineer was lying face down on the floor of his quarters, shirtless. His wife knelt next to him, applying pressure to each neural node in his spine. She sensed a great deal of worry in him since the discovery of what the Romulans were probably mining nearby. In fact, it was the first time in many months T'Pol sensed worry that didn't directly have to do with her. Although she didn't like him worried at all and the direction of her thoughts seemed illogically selfish, she preferred not to be the direct cause of his concerns.

"It should be a simple matter of getting the shuttlepod in and out quickly, before any cloaked vessels discover its presence," she replied, pressing deeply with her fingers.

He caught his breath as he felt the tension ease from his body, if not his mind.

"What's troubling you, Thy'la,?" whispered T'Pol.

"Is it that obvious that I'm troubled? I was trying to hide it from you," he said as he sat up.

She looked at him in the candlelight, which made the shadows of his handsome face more pronounced. Even if she hadn't been bonded with him, she would have recognized his unsettled thoughts. If she had been mated with a Vulcan male, she would have shared deep feelings only through the bond, but she wasn't married to a Vulcan. Trip, she had come to understand, needed to actually verbalize his emotions in order to deal with them.

Trip leaned over and took her hand and immediately she felt some of the tension leave his mind. Some, but not all.

"I'm scared," he said, "I don't think the alliance is ready for any of this."

He knew she agreed.

"We're helping get them ready," she said, "Hopefully, full scale hostilities can be put off for as long as possible."

"I suppose that means you're not willing to help find a little out-of-the-way colony on the the other side of the quadrant where we could ride out this storm in peace and quiet. Maybe raise a couple of kids while we're at it?"

She squeezed his hand.

"It is illogical to dwell on what cannot be," she replied softly, "and since you would never abandon your people in a time of crisis the scenario you described cannot be."

"It just seems like you and I have paid our dues already, ten fold," he breathed.

T'Pol let go of his hand, resolving to comfort him in a more human manner. She carefully put her arms around him and pulled him into an embrace. By now she was accustomed to receiving such embraces but initiating them still did not come naturally to her. He squeezed her tightly, rocking her back and forth for a moment before he gently pushed her down to the floor.

He looked into her eyes for a long while before leaning down and nuzzling at her neck. She tried to embrace him again but he used his own hands to pin her hands down next to her ears. His mouth moved from her neck to one of the pointed tips of her ears, tracing it with his tongue. He then slowly moved to the other ear, giving it the same careful treatment. Then, very slowly, his mouth found hers and he kissed her. Everything felt in slow motion, as though he wanted to prolong every second, savor every moment.

She let him take his time, calling on her Vulcan patience to do so, though she was starting to breathe a little heavier and felt a slow ache between her legs. He, too, was aroused. She felt his hardness pressed against her and moaned into his mouth.

He finally released her hands so he could unbutton her top and release her breasts from their confinement. He teased her green hued nipples with his thumbs before leaning down to tease each one with his tongue.

Through the bond, she knew he wanted to test her patience, see how long it would take her to become restless and demand satisfaction. She took the challenge, closing her eyes and focused on every movement of his tongue, every caress of his hands. Practically in a meditative state, she felt him slip her silk pants off her legs, stopping briefly to caress her calves as he did so.

He crawled back up slowly and pressed a nearly chaste kiss on her lips. Even though her eyes were closed, she knew he was looking at her and enjoying every curve of her bronze body. He was familiar with every centimeter by now, and he had become more and more possessive of her as the time passed. He remembered the months when he thought he had lost her to a loveless marriage. Then, their cultural differences nearly tore them apart. But now that she was his, he wasn't ever going to let anything come between them again. T'Pol felt both a promise and something vaguely threatening in this assertion he was making through the bond. He may not have been a Vulcan, but he would fight for her like one if the need arose.

He leaned down and kissed her again, this time harder and more aggressively. Her Vulcan nature, hard-wired by centuries of evolution, responded instinctively. She pulled him closer, nails scratching at his back.

Before she knew what was happening, he turned her over and lifted her to her knees. She felt his hands move down her back to her behind, still slow enough to try her patience. She finally whimpered just a bit. That was all he needed. He got on his knees and entered her. She had long been ready, but it was still sudden and she gasped. He gave her just a moment to adjust, gently caressing the nape of her neck before starting to move inside her. She sensed he had lost patience with his own game, and he now wanted things to go quickly. He reached around her body and began to coax a climax from her. It didn't take long, and she was soon muffling her cries of pleasure in her hands. He kept going for awhile longer, even as she remained dizzy and almost delirious. Finally, she felt him come inside her and collapse against her.

Still in her dreamlike haze, she felt him rest his head on the back of her neck as he put one arm around her. He felt content and at peace; his earlier worries far away.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: Paramount Owns Everything._

_Rating: R to NC-17 for drugs and explicit R/S sex._

Enme of Romulus looked out the window of his room on the Romulan mining colony and surveyed the desolate, mountainous landscape. He was glad it wasn't that beautiful, since the men here would soon be strip mining it beyond recognition.

"I am Enme of Romulus," he said to no one in particular, as he was alone, "and I am bloody annoyed."

Enme knew he had no right to feel sorry for himself. He had won the genetic lottery, having been born the first son of one of the Empire's wealthiest and most powerful men. He had every advantage growing up, including brains, athletic ability and charm. Sure, he couldn't draw a straight line and he was a lousy dancer, but that didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. No, he was a blessed man and self-pity would be disingenuous.

Unfortunately, the Gods had seen fit to make up for his blessing by giving him two irritating full brothers and a half-brother that was out-of-his mind. One of his full siblings worked as a legislative assistant in Capitol City and had his own sights on the Senate. Consequently, Enme couldn't stand to be the same room with for very long, so low was his tolerance for ass-kissing and schmoozing. The next youngest brother never met a bottle of Romulan Ale he couldn't finish in one sitting and was well-acquainted with most of the high-end concubines on Romulus, which made his company only slightly less trying than the one before. Then, there was Ston.

Enme had always known Ston to be high-strung, but he hadn't quite realized how stupid he was. The best case scenario he could imagine involved Ston being locked away in a mental hospital for the rest of his days. This wasn't because of his ill-advised journey to meet their long-lost Vulcan sister, although that was stupid. Under Romulan law, giving her a sample of dilithium was treason. Treason was punishable by death. If he was in a merciful mood, their father could exile the boy in a sanitarium. If not, Enme was relatively certain their father to be capable of ordering Ston's execution.

Ston's stupidity and recklessness had put the whole mining operation under threat. Enme also believed that Ston posed a threat to their sister. From reading her dossier, Enme had no doubt that she could take care of herself, but he also knew that Ston had the element of surprise on his side.

****

T'Pol carried her bag over her shoulder as she headed to the shuttle bay.

"I don't see why I can't go with you," said Trip.

"Because you're needed here," replied T'Pol, in full on Vulcan stoic mode, "and the captain believes that you would pose an unnecessary distraction for me."

"Was I such a distraction last time?"

She didn't even bother raising the eyebrow.

"Fair enough," said Trip, "but promise me you'll take good care of Malcolm. Hoshi, too."

T'Pol stopped just outside the shuttle bay. She stood on her toes to kiss him goodbye where no members of the crew could see.

"I promise. You take care of the captain. We should be back in two days."

"Say hi to the station for me, and don't use the sauna in your single room, I hear its dangerous."

"See you in two days," she said as she pivoted on her feet and headed into the bay.

Trip felt uneasy, but he sucked it up. She could take care of herself and he had to trust in that.

****

Some hours later, the shuttlepod with Hoshi, Malcolm and T'Pol docked into the station again. Since the modifications that would allow them to avoid the minefield and scan for dilithium were going to take time, Captain Archer had decided T'Pol should return to the station and carefully try and determine why the Romulan had given her the dilithium. Everyone agreed he wanted something, but no one knew what. That was their only goal. Malcolm was along for extra security and backup, while Hoshi was to get as much exposure to the Romulan language as she could.

T'Pol had decided to stay in the Vulcan Section of the station this time, while Hoshi and Malcolm were going to stay at the hotel section.

"Stay in constant communication," said Malcolm.

T'Pol nodded and slipped away into the bustling hallways of the station's transport area.

"So, now we wait," said Malcolm.

"I've booked us just one room," said Hoshi, "as I thought we might want to stay on the space side."

Malcolm accepted this news as normal. They had spent a few more platonic nights together in Hoshi's room, so it made sense that they share. Still, he was getting a bit confused as to the nature of his relationship with Hoshi. They had become close in the last few days, but he didn't have a clue what that meant. Furthermore, the last thing he need on such an important mission was an unwelcome distraction. He was too old and too experienced to allow some sort of a crush on his colleague to interfere with his work.

_Blast this Andorian acid or whatever it is_, thought Malcolm. He'd done research on various psychotropic substances and learned that some of them caused people to develop attachments to fellow users of the drug. Other substances simply uncovered attraction that was already there. He didn't know which was which, or whether Hoshi was attracted or not. Now they were going to be sharing a room, and that was an unwelcome yet undeniably intriguing complication.

****

Back on _Enterprise_, Trip got pinged that there was a subspace communication call for him. It was personal, so he took it in his quarters rather than in Engineering. It was from Mississippi.

He pressed the button the screen and his mother's face appeared. She was in her sixties, with greying hair and a few lines. She appeared worried.

"Hello Trip," she said.

"Hi Mom," he replied, "Has something happened?"

"No," she replied.

Trip waited for a moment. His mother was usually plenty talkative, so obviously something was wrong. No doubt she was still angry about him marrying T'Pol.

"Well," said Trip, "it's good to see you."

"Is your wife there?"

"No," said Trip, "She's out on a mission. She'll be back in a few days."

"Oh," she said, "It must be nice to have the place to yourself."

"Not really. I miss her every moment she's gone," replied Trip pointedly.

His mother took at deep breath, but she said nothing. Finally, Trip had had enough.

"Look, Mom," said Trip, "I get that you and Dad don't approve of me marrying a Vulcan. . .or probably any alien, but I did. You don't even know her. . ."

"Charles," snapped his mother, "you never gave us the chance to know her. You never told us the two of you were romantically involved. We heard that the two of you had a child when a reporter called the house to get a statement. . . "

"Baby Elizabeth was a clone; we didn't even know she existed until a few days before she died. It was kinda an insane time. Before that, things were on and off between T'Pol and me. It was when we went to Vulcan for the funeral. . .we just decided we didn't want to be apart. That's when I sent you and Dad the letter."

"But we've still never met her. You didn't even want us to come to see you after the child died. . .you only sent letters. . . no calls . . .and we're stuck here knowing less than the reporters that call to question us."

"We were going to come, Mom, but things got away from us."

Trip's mother shook her head in frustration.

"I can't say that we were thrilled to hear that you'd gone and married that woman, after what happened. But that has nothing to do with her or her people. Truthfully, we don't like you living with a target on your back - the focus of so much attention. But we'll get used to it."

"That woman has a name. It's T'Pol."

Elaine Tucker's face softened.

"You said in your letter that you love her, but does she love you back? Can she?"

Trip sighed.

"Yes," he said, "Vulcans love. They just do it differently than humans."

"And is that enough for you?"

Trip heard a tinge of sadness in his mother's voice.

"It's more than enough. It's. . .just trust me. She's wonderful. I can't wait for you to meet her. . .and I wouldn't have survived the incident with Terra Prime without her. . .I promise you'll like her."

"If you love her, we'll love her," she said, though Trip thought she was trying to convince herself. Still, it was a start.

"Thanks, Mom."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom."

****

T'Pol sat across the table in the cafe from Javon. She had transfered the data about the dilithium to him.

"I assume this isn't shocking to you," she said.

Javon shook his head.

"It's confirmation of what I suspected. I didn't know precisely what they were mining, but it had to be something along these lines. And while I do appreciate the information, that's not why you are here. You want to know about the young man who gave you this sample."

T'Pol blinked and nodded.

"I know very little. He showed up a few weeks before you, and his interest wasn't in the alliance. He was interested in you. He wanted to meet you."

"Why?"

"He never said."

T'Pol did not respond. She simply sipped on her Vulcan tea and stared at Javon. She had noticed a strange burn mark on his hand. She wasn't certain, but it was the kind of burn that could come from overuse of certain kinds of hyposprays, if they were used on an improper setting. Such marks were considered a tell-tale sign of drug addiction - different from Trellium-D, but often no less detrimental to Vulcan control. On this station, she assumed Javon would have access to a plethora of exotic substances.

"I believe he means you no harm," said Javon, "or at least he thinks he means you no harm."

She nodded.

"Can you arrange a meeting? I would like to find out who he is."

"Is tomorrow morning soon enough?"

T'Pol nodded. She instructed Javon to tell the young Romulan to meet her in the main observation area at 1100 hours.

The two finished their tea in silence. Then, before she left, she spoke again.

"How have you found life on the station? Do you miss Vulcan?"

Javon met her eyes.

"Do you?"

"There are many things I miss about the homeworld, but I am content with my choices."

"I should think so. You're husband seems quite taken with you. No doubt he is more demonstrative than a typical Vulcan male. I know from experience how easy it is to succumb to such pleasures."

"It seems to me you've succumbed to many other kinds of pleasure," said T'Pol, glancing down at his hand.

"Tell me, T'Pol, how is it that you allowed yourself to acquiesce to your husband's advances? Most Vulcans would easily suppress their feelings."

"You're assuming it was he who made the advances."

If Vulcans smiled, Javon would have smiled at that. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow. He liked this woman, and he felt he knew her better than almost any Vulcan could.

"Touche. However, I suspect it took more than a pair of blue eyes and talented hands to tear down your Vulcan walls. What was it?"

"That is not your concern," replied T'Pol without judgement. If anything, she felt enormous compassion for Javon.

"It is not easy living among off worlders," said Javon, "but I have found that the sacrifices are worth it. Have you?"

"Yes," she said simply.

"I do miss the simplicity sometimes," he said, "that notion that all can be solved with logic and that emotions can be controlled."

T'Pol nodded.

"You shouldn't regret it," said Javon, "It's worth it - no matter what the cost."

T'Pol felt her hands begin to tremble, but she suppressed it.

"I know."

****

Malcolm and Hoshi looked around the large, double room that was theirs for the night. It was the same one Trip and T'Pol had shared on the earlier mission. Hoshi threw her bag in the closet and headed into the bathroom.

"Wow," she said, "that tub is not here for bathing. It's big enough for two - three if you're a small species."

Malcolm laughed, awkwardly.

"I'll bet Trip and T'Pol made the most of this room," continued Hoshi, noting the oversized bed as well as a mirror that was next to it.

"Well," said Malcolm, "they are still newlyweds."

Hoshi laughed.

"I'll bet you any money you want that she's fire under all that Vulcan ice. I'm sure they had plenty of fun," said Hoshi.

Malcolm felt himself blushing. He really didn't like thinking about his friends' sex life. It wasn't that the thought hadn't crossed his mind; it was just he felt like it was none of his business.

"You know," she said, "Vulcans are touch-telepaths, and it is thought that they form telepathic bonds with their 'mates'. I studied Vulcan a great deal when I was younger. Their mating rituals are - unique that way."

Malcolm again remained silent.

"Can you imagine?" she continued, "How great would the sex be if you knew exactly what the other person needed? What if you were mind-linked to them?"

Hoshi laid down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling.

"You think they are telepathically linked?" asked Malcolm, curious. He had noticed that Trip and T'Pol seemed unusually close.

"I'm pretty sure," she said, "I've watched them work together since they came back from Vulcan. They are completely in synch with one another."

"Seems a waste," said Malcolm, "to have such a link and only use it every seven years."

"Maybe she figured that out," said Hoshi, "and that's why she married him."

Malcolm approached the bed, and he laid down next to Hoshi. He hoped she wouldn't find him presumptuous, given the platonic nights they had spent together.

"Malcolm," she said, "have you felt a strange connection since we went on our little psychonaught journey? Because, I feel like I've connected with you in some way."

Malcolm sighed.

"It could be the drug, Hoshi. It could be totally artificial."

"But what if the drug uncovered something latent, something that was there all along."

Hoshi reached over and slipped her hand into Malcolm's hand. A energy sparked between. It wasn't exactly a telepathic bond, but it was something. The drug had some how connected them.

Malcolm decided enough was enough. He took his other hand and placed it gently on the side of Hoshi's face. He then leaned down and kissed her, harder than he thought he would, but she didn't seem to mind. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, and her arms went around him. They kissed for a long time, until she finally broke the embrace.

"No risk, no reward right?" she asked.

Malcolm may have been reticent to get involved, but once he decided to move forward, he was all in. His hands moved to the zipper of her uniform and he carefully, languidly undressed her while still being aggressive with his kisses. She returned the favor, removing his jumpsuit and regulation blues, then taking the time to explore the angles of his body with her fingers.

He looked her up and down, amazed at seeing her familiar body in such a new way. He didn't care if it was the drug anymore, he was just glad not to feel alone in this moment. He didn't care what tomorrow brought. He did however, care that she enjoyed herself.

His fingers found their way between her legs and he caressed her there. She moaned against his lips and whispered his name. She grabbed his shaft and moved him inside her. He gasped.

She looked into his eyes.

"That feels so good," she whispered.

He smiled and kissed her. As he moved inside her, his fingers worked the nub between her legs. They continued like that for a long while, until finally he felt her breathing quicken and body start to tremble. Spasms rocked her body and cried out. He then continued to move in her until he joined her in ecstasy.

After his breathing returned to normal, he rolled off her. She laughed.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm great," she said with a sigh, "That was great."

"If I had know how good that was going to be I'd have suggested we do that long ago."

She laughed again and snuggled up against him.

"I never thought this would happen. I mean, the thought had crossed my mind. . .but I never . . .well, anyway, I'm going to sleep well tonight."

He brushed the hair from her flushed face.

"Me too. Probably better than I have since the last time we were on this station."

****

The next morning, it was all business once Malcolm & Hoshi met T'Pol in the observation area. They discussed many options for the meeting, but finally decided that T'Pol would behave as though she simply wished to thank the Romulan. Hoshi would come along as a "friend" and Malcolm would watch from nearby, set-to-stun phase pistol at the ready.

At the appointed time, Hoshi and T'Pol sat at a little table near the giant window, doing their best to effect casualness. The cavernous observation area was crowded with all sorts of species.

From his vantage point, Malcolm immediately saw the young Romulan approach Hoshi and T'Pol. He couldn't hear what the conversation was, but after a few moments, it didn't matter.

The Romulan quickly appeared to tack on some kind of devices to Hoshi and T'Pol's uniforms. Then, the three of them transported away.

"Dammit," said Malcolm, his heart in his throat.

The station had blocking technology that was supposed to prevent any unauthorized transports. Clearly, it hadn't worked.

Knowing it was useless to head to the spot from which his friends had disappeared, he headed straight for station security. They might know where the transporter signal came from and to which ship it belonged.

****

T'Pol and Hoshi found themselves aboard a conference room on what appeared to be a Vulcan freighter. The Romulan stood there staring at them.

"Welcome," he said.

"Why have you abducted us?" asked T'Pol.

"I needed to spend time with you," he said, "which will be your thank you for the dilithium I gave you. I could get in a lot of trouble for that."

T'Pol and Hoshi locked eyes.

"Again, thank you," said T'Pol, "Although I would like to know why you did it."

"It's supposed to be a secret," said Ston, "but I'm going to tell you. Maleek! Take the human woman out of here!"

Maleek appeared in the doorway, and T'Pol immediately took note that he did not appear at all happy. She knew that these were civilians, unlike her previous experience with Romulan kidnapping.

"I'm not going to hurt her," said Maleek. His tone indicated exasperation rather menace, something else which T'Pol immediately noticed.

"She is a citizen of Earth and a Starfleet officer. If something happens to her, anything, there will be consequences."

Maleek nodded.

"Come with me," he said to Hoshi, "You'll be fine."

When they had departed, T'Pol turned to Ston. She had been examining his features and decided they were familiar. She suspected he might be related to her, but she wasn't sure.

"I object to being kidnapped."

"Did you object when it happened before?"

"Yes."

Ston wrinkled his eyebrows at that.

"He's very powerful, you know."

"How do you know him?"

"He's my father. That makes you my sister."

T'Pol was in full-on Vulcan control mode. This news, while slightly surprising, did not affect her, except in it made it more likely that the young man meant her no harm.

"Why have you abducted Hoshi?"

"I didn't want you to be alone. Also, she'll make good insurance in case you try and be unpleasant."

T'Pol nodded to indicate she understood. She sat down at the table.

"So," she said, "do you have a name?"

Ston smiled and took the chair next to her.

"It's Ston, and I'm sorry I didn't get to meet you at my father's cottage. I was very disappointed."

"Obviously," said T'Pol.

Vulcans generally didn't lie, unless it was absolutely necessary. T'Pol determined that a course of deception was necessary in this case.

"You know, it wasn't necessary for you to kidnap me. You need have only told me who you were . . ."

Ston's face brightened at that.

"I couldn't take the chance you would go back to your ship right away. I went through a lot of trouble to see you."

T'Pol nodded, acknowledging his efforts.

"I understand," she lied.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, brushing a stray hair from her face.

She pulled away instinctively and then immediately recognized that the move upset her captor.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Vulcans do not like to be touched, especially by strangers."

Ston put his hand on her cheek and leaned very close to her.

"I'm not a stranger. I'm your brother."

T'Pol lowered her eyes in faux subservience.

"No. You are not a stranger, and so I think you would be happy to respect my customs."

Ston took his hand away.

"We have a lot to talk about," he said.

****

Maleek showed Hoshi to a room on the transport. He spoke to her in Romulan, impressed she understood without needing the translator.

"Don't worry," said Maleek, "you won't be here long. You'll be back on your ship before you know it."

Hoshi glared at him. Maleek sighed.

"I know you don't trust be. Why would you? But I can tell you that you and your friend are going to fine."

Hoshi looked very hard at the first Romulan she had ever seen up close. He was very young and quite un-menacing, and she didn't sense he was interested in harming her at all. He seemed genuinely apologetic.

"Are you a member of the military?"

"No," said Maleek, "If I were, you would be on your way to your ship by now. I'm really not in a position to help you, unless things get really out of hand. It's a Romulan thing, but just relax."

Hoshi nodded. She felt the ship they were on go to warp.

"Are you taking us into Romulan Space?"

"Sort of," said Maleek.

He walked over to a panel on the wall.

"You can order up simple food and water here. Nothing fancy. Nothing human, either. But I'll bet there's something for you to eat. We'll lock the doors, of course. Please, don't try and escape - neither of us need that hassle."

With that Maleek left the room, shooting a look of pity at Hoshi.

When she was alone, Hoshi surveyed the room. It was probably easily escapable, but she had no idea where she would go or what she would do if she left. She decided to stay put.

****

Trip was working in engineering when he got a sense T'Pol was in trouble. He quickly found his way to his private office. He sat down and closed his eyes, finding himself in white space. T'Pol stood there, looking serene.

_I thought you were in trouble. _

_I am. Hoshi and I have been abducted by a group of Romulans, led by my half-brother. _

_What? Where? Do you know where they are taking you?_

_No. We appear to be on a freighter. So far, there have been no threats against us. I believe the young man, the same one who gave us the dilithium, believes he has rescued me. _

_Then why'd he take Hoshi?_

_Insurance. To make sure I wanted to be rescued. I don't know much about Romulan culture, but the young man seems mentally unbalanced. However, I do believe escape will be possible. Do not worry. _

_You know better than to ask that of me. _

In the white space, she embraced and kissed him passionately.

_I'll be all right, Thy'la. As soon as I determine where we are going, I will let you know. I love you. _

_I love you._

With that, she disappeared from the white space.

T'Pol opened her eyes. Ston was shaking her.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, "I was just meditating. It is important for Vulcans to do so. I will ask you to allow me that."

Ston nodded.

"All right, I will."


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: Paramount owns all. _

_Rating: R to NC-17 for sex, violence, drugs and other stuff. _

Trip found himself standing on his favorite Florida beach on a warm, breezy summer night. There were more stars in the sky than Trip could count and the air smelled of salt, sand and seaweed and the sound of the waves crashing soothed his ears. The beach, which was kept secret by the locals and thus never overrun by tourists, and its fragile dunes had been all but destroyed by the Xindi attack. Or had it? It looked the same as it had when he was a teenager and he and his friends would cut school to spend the day in the surf. At night, they'd build a campfire and drink beer and talk about girls. More than a few times, Trip had brought a girl to this beach. Hell, he'd lost his virginity on prom night, right here on this beach.

Speaking of which, he noticed the shadowy figure a girl sitting on a blanket and looking out toward the surf, her back to him. Not a girl, really, but a woman. She turned and he recognized his wife's elfin face. How was it that she was here?

"Thy'la," she whispered.

He approached her. He didn't remember quite why he was so glad to see her, but he was. He knelt next to her and gathered her petite, Vulcan form into his arms.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

He kissed her on gently but passionately the the mouth, and she responded, opening her mouth to him. Her form seemed to fit just right in his arms, and she wrapped her arms around him and molded her body to his. She wore a bright yellow sundress - the kind that Florida girls wore. Very un-Vulcan, he thought as he slipped it off her body in between kisses. He gasped when he realized she wore nothing underneath. None of his high school girlfriends had ever done anything like that or kissed him the way she was kissing him. Her hands soon divested him of his Starfleet uniform. Why was he wearing that? It didn't matter. He was just so happy to be caressing her form and to feel her to the same to him. Her coppery scent mixed with the smell of the ocean soon he found himself inside her.

"God, I love you," he said.

"And I love you," she said clearly, without hesitation. Strange, he thought, usually she needed to be pressed into saying it aloud. She only said it in her mind -

Trip opened his eyes and looked down at her, realizing where they were, but it was too late to stop. He continued to finesse her with his fingers and nibbled at her ear. He whispered to her in Vulcan and soon she came, punctuated by a series of gentle moans. He soon followed.

"It feels so real," he said.

"It is real," she said, "It's just in the mind, not the body. Although I imagine your body will have responded as if I were really there," she said in teasing voice.

"Great," he said, "I'll change the sheets before you come back - where are you? How are you?"

Reality was starting to creep into the illusion.

"As much as I enjoyed that, do you really think its appropriate given your situation?" he continued.

She reached up and placed a finger gently on his lips.

"I think it is very appropriate. I miss you, and your presence relaxes me and helps me focus."

"Do you know where they are taking you?"

"I'm not certain, but I believe we are headed to the mining colony. Ston told me we are not returning to Romulan space but we are going somewhere under the Empire's control," she said.

"Has he hurt you? Or Hoshi?"

"I haven't seen Lt. Sato since she was taken away yesterday. However, the captain of this vessel assures me she is safe and well-cared-for. He strikes me as truthful."

Trip sighed with relief. He brushed the side of her face with his hand. He knew she could survive this. She had been through worse scrapes, and he had to tell himself she would be okay.

"Malcolm found the security officer who was bribed so you could transport out of there," replied Trip, "and he's meeting with Javon soon. Javon has agree to help find you."

"Gratifying," she said, "especially since he aided Ston with information about me. Although, I don't believe Javon knew what my brother intended."

"He's really your brother?"

"Yes, he's the youngest of my father's four sons. Apparently he feels disconnected from his family since the death of his mother, so he is attempting to create a new one with me. My father is ignorant of his actions."

Trip didn't like the sound of that.

"He means me no harm," she said.

Trip heard just enough hesitation in her voice to know that she was attempting to convince herself of that.

"Should I use the ring? I'll contact him and he can send a warbird to pick up his psycho son. . ."

"That may yet be necessary," replied T'Pol, "but wait a few days. I believe the captain of this vessel did not wish to become involved in the kidnapping of two Starfleet officers. He may well be convinced to let us go."

Trip pulled her into a hug.

"If one hair on your head is harmed. . .if one hair on Hoshi's head is harmed . . .so help me . . I'll . . ."

"Remain calm," she said, "and tell the captain to head toward the mining colony as soon as possible. It is the most logical course, given my reasonable certainty that is where we are headed."

He hugged her tight.

"Don't go yet," he said.

"You are needed to assist in our rescue," she said, "I will return if I have any new information. You do the same. I love you."

Trip leaned back and entwined his fingers in hers in what was a Vulcan gesture of intimacy. He send his love back to her that way before she disappeared.

****

T'Pol awoke in her room on the freighter and immediately sensed she was being watched. The room was sparse but comfortable with a port side window and a private bathroom. She had even found clothes in the closet, which was a thoughtful touch. Her brother may have been a lunatic, but at least he wasn't going to make her wear the same uniform every day.

She turned around to find him standing in the doorway.

"Have you been there long, brother?" she asked.

"Just a few minutes," he said, "you were moaning in your sleep. I didn't want you to be scared."

"I appreciate that," she replied without emotion.

"Breakfast is ready," he said, "You can come in your nightclothes so it won't get cold."

"Will Lt. Sato be joining us? I am eager to see that she is well," said T'Pol.

Ston thought about that for a moment.

"I can arrange that," he said.

"That would be most gracious of you," she said.

Ston reached out his hand to her, clearly wanting to her to take it.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but Vulcans do not hold hands with people they have just met, even family. Perhaps in time. . ."

T'Pol lowered her eyes in feigned subservience.

"I saw you hold the human's hand," said Ston, "when you were on the station. You did it outside the cafe."

"He is my mate," she said, "It is appropriate that we hold hands."

Ston squinted at this but said nothing. He gestured for her to follow him, which she did.

He led her down a long hall to a dining room about the size of the Captain's mess. The were no crew in the hall and all the doors were closed.

She saw the table had been set and a spread of food displayed. It was mostly meat, something which made her vaguely nauseous, but there was Plomeek soup. She sat down at the table.

"Help yourself," said Ston as he reached for what appeared to be the comm system. "Maleek, bring the human woman to breakfast. You can join us, too."

Ston flipped the button. T'Pol helped herself to the soup and some tea.

"I'm glad there are four chairs," said Ston.

Hoshi and Maleek arrived a few minutes later, and T'Pol was relieved to see she looked unharmed. She also appeared calm and collected, for a human. Hoshi had been through worse captivity than this, and she was more than capable of keeping herself emotionally together.

"Good morning, Lt."

"Good morning, Commander."

T'Pol thought she saw a flicker of reaction from the captain - the one called Maleek - at the sound of their ranks.

"Have you been treated well?" asked T'Pol casually.

"As well as could be expected, except for being held captive of course," replied Hoshi smoothly.

Their eyes locked, and they both understood the necessity of playing along. Soon, all four people sat around the table, enjoying the breakfast.

"So," said Hoshi, finally breaking the awkward silence, "it looks to me like Vulcans and Romulans are an awful lot alike."

T'Pol sipped her soup.

"It is not widely known, but Vulcans and Romulans are the same race," said T'Pol casually.

"It's no secret in the Empire," said Maleek, turning to Hoshi, "but we've kept it quiet outside of our borders. My understanding is that until recently, very few Vulcans knew the truth. Several thousand years ago, a group of Vulcans left because they rejected the teachings of Surak. They found their way to Romulus and founded the empire."

Hoshi's eyes widened. She knew this was huge news, and she guessed that T'Pol already knew. No wonder Starfleet had been so secretive about the Romulans over the last year, she thought. This could wreck the coalition. Thinking back, she also felt stupid for not recognizing that Romulan and Vulcan had the same root language. It was obvious, now that she thought about it.

Ston seemed frustrated by this conversation. He huffed a little and slammed his cup down. He looked over and noticed that Hoshi appeared to be finished with her meal.

"You can take her back to her room now, Maleek," said Ston.

"Will I be able to see her later?" asked T'Pol.

"If you like," said Ston, exasperated.

T'Pol nodded at Hoshi, and Maleek led her out of the room.

"Thank you for letting me see her, brother," said T'Pol softly.

"You're welcome," he said.

Ston scooted his chair to be closer to T'Pol.

"I'm sorry I had to kidnap you, but it was the only way I could think of to spend time with you."

T'Pol did not react for a moment.

"You could have introduced yourself on the station. I would have been happy to spend time with you," she lied, thankful for all the practice at play acting that she had gotten since living among humans.

"Would you have? See, I couldn't be sure. I thought maybe you were under some mind control by the humans. . .that you were not able to think clearly . . ."

"They do not control me. I make my own choices," she said.

Ston didn't like that. He grabbed her wrist.

"Then why did you mate with a human? Why would you do that?"

T'Pol looked at him, for the first time actually scared of him.

"I wanted to," she said simply, unable to think of a lie that would please her brother and unwilling to deflect blame to her husband.

"It doesn't make sense," he said, "even Father said so."

"Not everything makes sense," she replied softy, "So father is disappointed in me?"

Ston nodded.

"Join the club. He's not easy to please. He really only likes Enme. That's my oldest brother. He's not much younger than you. Maybe by six or seven years."

"What is he like?"

Ston shrugged.

"He's in the military - went to the academy and everything. He leads campaigns on the far side of the empire. Father likes that. It brings our house honor."

T'Pol nodded. She needed more information.

"Well," she said gently removing herself from his grip, "why don't you tell me about yourself?"

****

Trip sat in Archer's ready room drinking a big glass of bourbon, even though it wasn't yet noon.

"So, how are you so sure she's all right? Hoshi too?"

Trip sighed.

"It's a Vulcan thing. They are telepaths, and they can communicate with their mates over long distances."

Archer shook his head. Vulcans would keep something like that quiet.

"And it works with you two? Even though you are human?"

"Yup," said Trip as he finished his glass and poured another.

"Well, that's handy. Especially in this situation," said Archer.

Trip started on his new glass of bourbon, and Archer was worried. Trip rarely outdrank him these days.

"For example, I just got a real sense that she's creeped out by something that Romulan kid did to her. . .she's okay, but she's not happy to be there and I can't do a damn thing to help her. . ."

"We'll pick up Malcolm in a couple of hours and head off to the mining colony. Kill two birds with one stone. . .rescuing our people will be top priority, of course."

"I know, Captain," said Trip

_To hell with being on duty_, thought Jon, and he poured himself another glass.

"We've been through worse than this," said Jon, "and she'll be okay. I'm sure of it."

Trip took a deep breath. He wanted to be sure as well.

Jon poured himself a generous second glass to match Trip's."

"Make sure you sober up before we reach the mining colony," said the captain, "That's all I ask."

"You do the same," said Trip.

****

Malcolm sat across from the Vulcan intelligence officer called Javon, who was calmly sipping Vulcan tea in the cafe of the Vulcan section of the station.

"My ship docks in less than two hours," said Malcolm, "So, I would appreciate any help that you can give me."

Javon looked him straight in the eye. Malcolm was grateful the man had agreed to meet with him, but he had been angry about how long he'd had to wait to see him.

"This incident has nothing to do with the tensions between the Empire and this quadrant of space," said Javon directly.

Malcolm sipped his Vulcan tea. It was hardly a good China Black, but he had come to appreciate the care with which Vulcans brewed their tea. Only the British did better.

"How do you know? And assuming that is true, what does it have to do with?"

"Some of the crew of the freighter that took your officers lack the Vulcan laconic nature. They gossiped around the station."

Malcolm waited patiently for Javon to continue. He did.

"The ship was hired by a patrician Romulan named Ston. He believes himself to be your Commander T'Pol's brother. The crew believed they were simply getting themselves involved with a brother-sister reunion. None of them knew it would become espionage or kidnapping."

Malcolm shook his head.

"So why didn't they rebel? If only one civilian is involved. . ."

Javon raised his hand.

"Romulan society doesn't work that way. This Ston is of the very highest caste. They are not in a position to alienate him. For all they know, his actions have the blessing of his family. I don't believe that to be the case, however. I have a contact at the mining colony, and apparently a fixer of some kind has arrived there."

Malcolm exhaled. He was doing his damnedest not to think of Hoshi in a personal way. The best he could do for her was stay focused on her rescue.

"What's this fixer going to do?" asked Malcolm.

"Unknown," said Javon, "However, the Romulans are not stupid. They know that the death of two Starfleet officers isn't in their interest right now."

Malcolm nodded.

"Can you stay in communication with us? If you hear anything at all from your contact, will you let us know?"

Javon finished his tea.

"Yes," he said.

****

Maleek and Hoshi stood in the observation room of the freighter. Maleek spoke in a whisper.

"Stay calm," he said, "You're to be released once we get to the mining colony."

Hoshi searched the young Romulan's face for deception. She saw none, nor had she heard it in the cadence of his speech.

"What is going on?"

"Commander T'Pol is his half sister," said Maleek, "and he thinks he's rescued her from the clutches of you humans. He's convinced himself that T'Pol has been brainwashed."

Hoshi digested this news. She didn't even want to ask how this could be, but she did have great sympathy for her colleague.

"Here's the deal, though," continued Maleek, "When Ston gave her that dilithuium, he committed treason. That changed everything. The Empire is furious. We've been told to play along until we get to the mining colony. It may be hard for you to understand, but we've got to follow his orders until we get there."

Hoshi nodded.

"I promise I'll protect you," said Maleek, who wasn't sure why it was so important to him that this human, this inferior human, understand that he was honorable.

"I thought the Romulans were all about intimidation," said Hoshi.

Maleek smiled.

"We do that well, but we have honor," said Maleek, "and we're not supposed to be in the kidnapping business."

"Right now," said Hoshi, "I'm more worried for T'Pol than I am for myself."

****

Several hours later, T'Pol found herself wanting to nod off. She had been listening to her brother talk on and on about his mother, their father and their brothers. He told her about pets he had, and school projects that he was awarded prizes for. He told her about his favorite foods and his favorite music. T'Pol had been feigning interest the whole time, but her stamina was fading.

"You're so beautiful," said Ston, "more beautiful than your pictures."

He reached up and touched her face. T'Pol used all her Vulcan control to not cringe.

"I'm so glad I found you," he said, laying his head on her shoulder.

Perhaps it was the fatigue or perhaps it was the eeriness of his touch, but T'Pol instinctively reached up and gave him a nerve pinch.

Ston collapsed on the floor.

Knowing he would be unconscious for a few hours, she got up and left the room, closing the door behind her. She thought for a minute of holding him hostage, but that seemed too risky.

Instead, she made her way down the hallway. The freighter was of Vulcan design, so she knew its general outline. She decided it would be best to find a console so she could confirm their position.

She found one, and determined that they would very soon be at the mining colony. The ship was faster than it appeared.

T'Pol looked up, and she saw a member of the crew standing there. She prepared herself for capture, but the young man simply walked on as if she had every right to be there. What she didn't understand was that she, as the acknowledged older child of the ProConsul, held more sway than her captor. The crew would not dare touch her. This was why Ston had brought along Hoshi.

Not knowing what else to do, and unwilling to find and escape pod without Hoshi, T'Pol headed back to her room. Before she did so, she stopped yet another crew member in the hall.

"My brother has fainted," she said, "He is in the dining room. Please attend to him."

The young woman nodded and headed in that direction, and soon Maleek appeared, with Hoshi at his side.

"Ston has fainted," said T'Pol.

Maleek knew she was lying, but he didn't care.

"I was just telling Hoshi that we'll release you once we get to the colony. There's a man there to take Ston into custody. He may not even wake up before we arrive."

T'Pol felt relief wash over her. It wasn't complete, but she felt better.

****

Three hours later, the freighter landed at the mining colony. Ston had not yet awakened, and Maleek was happy to escort his two guests onto the landing pad. The director of the colony greeted them formally, as if they were state guests. Hoshi and T'Pol, who had started to feel less like victims, both surveyed their surroundings. This would prove to be a valuable intelligence-gathering opportunity.

Unfortunately, no one in Maleek's crew had had the courage to restrain the unconscious Ston. So, he appeared in the ship's doorway holding what appeared to be a particle weapon.

Maleek's eye's widened in fear. T'Pol stepped in front of Hoshi.

"I'm sorry, brother," she said clearly, "You passed out. I had one of the crew attend to you."

"You're lying," said Ston, "Why are you lying?"

His hands were shaking as he approached her. T'Pol suppressed her fear. Ston was inexperienced with weapons, which was far more dangerous in a situation like this than had he been experienced.

T'Pol's Vulcan ears heard footsteps behind her, but she was too focused on Ston to turn and look. The footsteps drew closer and closer and finally walked around her. She saw the back of a Romulan male, tall and youngish, as he approached Ston. He stood between her and the disruptor. She noticed that the the two men looked much alike. Hoshi, for her part, noticed that all three siblings looked alike.

Suddenly, the stranger fired a weapon and Ston collapsed to the ground. He screamed in pain and a patch green blood appeared on his shoulder.

The Romulan stepped over to Ston and kicked his disruptor out of the way. He then gestured to some men, who came with a stretcher.

"Sometimes I wish Romulans bothered to have stun weapons," said Enme, "It would be less messy in a situation such as this."

Once it was clear that Ston was strapped to the gurney and on his way to the medical facility, Enme turned to the new arrivals.

"Maleek," he said nodded, "Your assistance to our family is duly noted and appreciated. I give you regards from my father. Please take your ship and go, and your part in all of this will be overlooked."

Maleek shot a look at Hoshi.

"It was a pleasure," he said, "I'm sorry we'll be fighting on different sides."

With that, Maleek headed off to his ship, and the door quickly closed behind him.

"And here I thought that my brother couldn't annoy anyone more than he could annoy me," said Enme to T'Pol.

"But then I learned of you," he continued.


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: Paramount owns all. _

_Rating: This Chapter is tame. Easily PG-13. Just lots of boozing and some violence. _

Enme approached Hoshi and held out his hand.

"Hello, my name is Commander Enme."

Hoshi looked puzzled and glanced at T'Pol.

"I'm sorry," said Enme, "I thought this is how humans greeted each other. If I've been misinformed. . ."

Hoshi lifted her hand and shook the Romulan's hand.

"No," she said, "I'm just surprised. My name is Lt. Sato. Hoshi Sato."

"Well," said Enme, "allow me to extend my apologies on behalf of the Romulan Star Empire for any unpleasantness caused by your abduction, which was not sanctioned by the military, the government or the young man's family."

Hoshi looked into the man's eyes. They weren't honey-green like T'Pol's but grey. Still, she could see that they were related. The set of the eyes, the shape of the nose. . .the line of the jaw. . .these two were related.

"You'll be staying with me at my residence. I'm afraid its rather spartan, and you two will be bunking together, but it's the best I can do. We can't have two Starfleet officers staying among the miners."

"We need to contact our ship," said T'Pol.

"That will be taken care through channels, I assure you," said Enme, "We're currently working out a way to return you to your ship without compromising the security of this facility or inadvertently blowing _Enterprise_ out the sky."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"That's gracious of you," said Hoshi.

"I agree," said Enme, "Now, I have arranged a midday meal for you, but before that is served, I thought Lt. Sato might be interested in accessing our Romulan language and literature database. My understanding is that Starfleet's knowledge of our beautiful language is rudimentary at best."

Hoshi blinked and looked over at T'Pol for permission. Her commanding officer nodded.

"Thank you, I would like that," said Hoshi.

Enme gestured to the shadows and a very eerie vampire-like alien emerged.

"Follow him," said Enme, "and he'll see to it that you have all the access you need."

"I'll see you later, Lt," said T'Pol, reassuringly.

Hoshi nodded and followed the Reman through a doorway, thinking she was putting a tremendous lot of faith in these Romulans.

"So," said T'Pol to her brother, "did our father send you to rescue me?"

Enme laughed.

"No," he replied, "He sent me to rescue Ston. Our father doesn't think you needed rescue."

"Ston is an unbalanced young man," she replied cooly.

"You are damn right he is. We didn't know how much until this incident, and to be honest I don't know what will become of him. His little stunt with the dilithium might make him beyond even our father's help."

T'Pol didn't respond.

"We'll make sure he never comes near you again," said Enme, "That is something I can promise."

****

Malcolm paced up and down the armory, examining the data about the minefield. They would be there within 48 hours and he was the only one who could get the sensors ready. Trip, meanwhile, was sitting on the floor in the corner and Malcolm could smell the bourbon from where he stood at the console. He had returned to the ship to find the chief engineer three sheets to the wind, something that was understandable but not at all helpful.

"I'm sobering up," said Trip, "I'm sorry Malcolm. You know this isn't like me."

"Well," said Malcolm, "it's not often your wife gets snatched by a crazy Romulan. I'll give you a pass. I'm not so sure the captain would."

Trip snorted at that.

"It was his idea," said Trip.

Malcolm exhaled. That wasn't as much as a surprise as it should have been.

"He knew we wouldn't be able to do anything to help them for a few hours," said Trip, his eyes closed, "so we decided to kill some pain while waited."

"I'm not your therapist or your CO," said Malcolm, who knew that the hardest part of any mission in deep space were the waiting hours.

"Nah," said Trip, "You're my friend, though. Thanks for working so hard on this."

Malcolm walked over to where Trip sat and stood next to him, arms folded.

"You know I care about both of them like they are - family," said Malcolm, contemplating how much terror Trip must be feeling. He had only just begun to connect with Hoshi, and he was nearly overwhelmed with fear for her. Trip and T'Pol were married, had had a child together and might even be some how mentally linked together. Their bond was far stronger. It wasn't surprising that Trip found himself unable to deal with the empty hours of waiting.

"Why don't we go to the mess hall and get you some coffee?" asked Malcolm as he extended a hand to Trip.

Trip let his friend pull him up to a standing position and found that he wasn't as wobbly as he had been even a half hour earlier. The last time Trip had remembered drinking that much in one sitting was in the very early days of the mission to the Expanse. Lizzie's death combined with hours and hours of idle time had not been a good combination.

"Maybe Phlox can give me something for the hangover," said Trip.

****

What Romulans called "tea" and what Vulcans called tea proved to be very different. Both beverages worked on the same basic principle - heating leaves in water - but what T'Pol sipped while seated across from her brother would be highly unpalatable to most Vulcans. Strong spices had clearly been added to the leaves and debris from the brewing remained floating in the liquid.

"You're not supposed to consume the leaves and spices," said Emne, when T'Pol had reacted to the bitterness of their taste her mouth.

They were sitting at a small table in Enme's residence, which was the VIP guest house for the mining colony. The window overlooked some austere mountains.

"We terraformed this place for a year before beginning the mining operations," said Enme, "Some thought mining should begin before the atmospheric processing began, using domes and EV suits. However, the initial atmospheric processing can ignite some of the mining byproducts. So, patience was in order, and Romulans are not nearly as patient as you Vulcans."

T'Pol continued to ponder the complex flavors of her tea. It was stronger and spicier than the spiciest human tea she had ever tasted. Romulans certainly were different from Vulcans, despite their shared physiology.

"May I ask you a question?" said Enme.

T'Pol nodded.

"Do really suppress _all_ your emotions?"

"Yes," replied T'Pol, "It merely requires a disciplined mind."

"Yet," continued Enme, "Vulcans have relationships. You have children. You marry."

"We have affection for our families," she replied.

"But you married an off worlder. . .how does that work?"

"Very well."

Enme laughed. Vulcans were a strange and fascinating people, though he was very grateful that he had not been born among them.

"I wonder how Vulcans will react to a different way of life," said Enme, more to himself that to his sister. Father had said over and over that she would have made a magnificent Romulan, but Enme wasn't so sure about the rest of her people.

"They don't plan to reject logic," said T'Pol.

Enme looked at her. Did she really not know that unification was the plan? Did she not understand the Empire wanted to bring its distant cousins into the fold and show them a better way of life? He was a solider, not a spy, but he assumed that someone in T'Pol's position would understand the truth.

"That Vulcan stubbornness might cause unnecessary pain," said Enme.

"So might Romulan ambition," replied T'Pol.

Enme smiled. She had a point. It was one thing to conquer inferior races, as was Romulan habit. He wondered if his people were really ready to face the Vulcans, who while culturally different were their intellectual and physical equals.

"If things do go our way," said Enme, "you might be in a position to help your people adjust. You'll have a high position in the Empire thanks to your paternal bloodline. Vulcan or not."

Enme was amazed. Her face showed no reaction, one way or another. He had no idea what she was thinking. Vulcans _were_ different.

"I _am_ Vulcan," said T'Pol simply, "no political circumstances will ever change that."

Enme figured it was best not to press the issue, and suddenly recognized that he had found a sibling that he actually liked, and they would be fighting on opposite sides of a war. It was an unpleasant thought. Fate was cruel.

Across the table, T'Pol assessed her newly found brother. He clearly wasn't a lunatic like Ston. He was simply a Romulan and different from her. He looked Vulcan in his features and coloring, but he smiled, gestured and laughed more like - a human. On the other hand, Romulans lacked the idealism and openness of humans - not to mention their compassion. She found herself very grateful that she had not been taken to Romulus by her father.

****

Archer stared the unusual-looking Vulcan on his viewscreen.

"I'm the Captain of this ship," said Archer, "and Commander Tucker's commanding officer. Anything you have to say to him, you can say to me."

Javon did not react.

"I believe that, Captain. However, I told the Romulans that I would contact Commander T'Pol's husband, not her Captain. They have very strict protocols, and I agreed to abide by them. In their eyes, family supersedes military rank under these circumstances. Please respect that."

Archer sucked in his breath and paced.

"Well, Starfleet sees it different. . ."

"Captain Archer," said Javon, "if the Romulans viewed your officers as military prisoners, you would never see them again. Since they view this incident as a family matter, they intend to return them."

Archer froze.

"Understood," he said, "I'll patch you through to Commander Tucker."

Archer felt the beginnings of a massive headache, and it wasn't from navigating the special nuances of Romulan culture.

****

"So, they are both fine," said Malcolm, relieved. He also hoped to show equal relief for both his colleagues, rather than any special concern for Hoshi. It was far too soon to reveal their personal relationship.

The captain, Trip and Malcolm were in the ready room. Trip was also relieved to learn this news from Javon, but he remained concerned because T'Pol had not found a way to let him know. Getting to white space over light years required a great deal of concentration, so Trip hoped that would explain her absence from his mind.

"Yes," said Trip, "It seems they were rescued from their abductors this morning."

"By Romulans," said Malcolm, "What's the old expression? Out of the frying pan into the fire."

"Javon thinks they will release them to us," said Trip, "but he advises that we steer clear of the minefield until we hear from them, through him or another channel. They might decide to contact us directly. He says they can be unpredictable."

Archer shook his head. Under normal circumstances, the lives of two crew members would absolutely be the priority. Unfortunately, these were arguably wartime conditions. Wartime conditions meant the intelligence they could gather about the mine should take priority.

In his mind, Jon resolved not to consult Starfleet on the matter. Besides, he hoped that Hoshi and T'Pol would be able to provide more than enough intelligence.

"We'll steer as clear as we can from the mines," said Jon, until we hear from them.

Trip thought of bringing up the bond and the fact that he could theoretically contact T'Pol. He planned to try as soon as this damn meeting was over, but he didn't want to fail and make an ass of himself. First, he resolved to find out if he could connect with her again.

"More waiting," said the Captain, "just what we need."

****

Hoshi Sato looked around at a magnificently decadent spread of food. Romulans, she recognized, were not vegetarians like their cousins. The last time she'd seen such a consumable assortment of dead animals was aboard the Klingon ship. There were a few recognizably vegetarian dishes, some may have even been of Vulcan origin.

T'Pol's non-crazy brother was at her side, pointing out the origins of each dish. _No wonder they are disinclined to make contact_, thought Hoshi, _once you actually get in the room with one of them, they don't shut up about anything. _

Enme was more than a head taller than she, and he was clearly in magnificent shape. Although she knew cultures varied across systems - even across planets - she recognized something very aristocratic in the young Romulan officer. His manners were impeccable, and he carried himself with grace.

She glanced over at T'Pol, who was her usual emotion-less self. No sign that being kidnapped or trapped on a Romulan mining colony with her long-lost brothers was at all unusual.

"So," said Enme, "I assume you, unlike my sister, are more adventurous with your palate. Try the Reman pigeon. It's delectable."

Hoshi reached out and grabbed a helping of the interesting poultry. She glanced around for signs of the Remans. She had attempted to converse with the one who had guided her to the library about their language, but he had only spoken to her in Romulan. Reman was forbidden, he said.

She looked over at Enme, who shot her a flirtatious look. She reminded herself that he came from an aggressive planet that thought nothing of enslaving races they deemed weak or inferior.

The dining table here was low to the ground, and T'Pol had already seated herself on one of the pillows. It was a little like a traditional Japanese table, though there was no hole for one's legs. Instead, you were supposed to sit cross-legged or lounge sideways, propped up on one of the pillows.

"We're working on getting a transmission to your ship," said Enme, "but they've left the space station. We haven't got their frequency."

"I'm the comm officer," said Hoshi as she sat cross-legged on one of the pillows, "I can give you that."

"That may yet be necessary," said Enme.

Hoshi wondered for what reason they wouldn't accept any help from her or T'Pol. It might be a cultural thing. Maybe Romulans didn't accept help from their inferiors. A Remen appeared out of the kitchen door with a bottle of Romulan Ale. Enme gestured at their glasses, and soon the alien filled their glasses.

"Have you ever tasted Romulan Ale, Lt Sato?" asked Emne.

"No," said Hoshi, examining the shimmering blue liquid in her glass.

"It's one of our civilization's crowning achievements," said Enme as he lifted his glass.

Hoshi lifted her glass and gestured in a toast.

Enme looked at her, puzzled.

"It's a human custom, called a toast. One salutes, makes a proclamation honoring either a person or event and then the parties clink their glasses together before drinking. There are variations, but that's the basic premise."

Enme smiled with delight. He held aloft his glass.

"I salute my first contact with Vulcans and Humans."

Hoshi raised her glass, and she was surprised to see T'Pol do the same. They clinked them together.

"I am quite certain that I couldn't have found more beautiful examples of your respective races," continued Enme before sipping.

Hoshi sipped.

"Thank you," she said, "and thank you for rescuing us."

"I can't say it was my pleasure, since I'm still furious at my brother. However, I will say that meeting you has been an upside of this assignment."

He looked her straight in the eye and turned up the charm quotient.

_Just because it's obvious_, thought Hoshi, _doesn't mean it's not effective_.

Hoshi looked over at her commanding officer and saw that her face was still the usual Vulcan mask. She did, however, sip on her glass of Romulan Ale.

"So, did you read any interesting Romulan literature in our database? _The Epic of Grakon_ is one of my favorites."

Hoshi nodded.

"I read that one. You're meters are different from Vulcan. . ."

The two continued to converse for awhile, and then T'Pol stood up.

"Forgive me," she said, "but I must use the facilities."

Enme gestured to a corridor and continued his conversation with Hoshi.

****

The Romulan Ale had a bit of an effect on T'Pol and not an unpleasant one. She wasn't drunk but she felt a slight bit of euphoria. Certainly, she was happier than she should have been under her current circumstances.

In the small bathroom, she closed her eyes and concentrated. It would take Trip a few moments to connect with her, especially if he wasn't alone.

Soon, she was in white space. He appeared.

_Where have you been? Are you all right? We got word from Javon this morning that you'd been rescued but when I didn't hear from you. . " _

_Hoshi and I are both fine. They plan on releasing us to you, and they seem honest in their intent. We're on our way to the mining colony._

_That's where you are? _

_Yes. They are currently making plans for a transfer. However, they don't wish Enterprise anywhere near the minefield. _

_Understood. We were planning on staying away, at least for now. _

He approached her and pulled her into a hug. She responded in kind.

_Hey, are you okay? You seem kinda woozy._

_Romulan Ale. _

Trip smiled. Romulans did treat their prisoners well, at least in his experience.

_I must return to the table. I don't wish for our hosts to know I can communicate with you this way. I will see you soon. Hopefully in person. _

With that, she was gone. Trip opened his eyes in his quarters, feeling only slightly less alone that he had been.

****

Later that afternoon, Hoshi and T'Pol found themselves alone in the plush guesthouse, besides the Reman servants. Both were wearing fine Romulan style robes and relaxing on chaises in the main living room. Hoshi was working on her third glass of Romulan Ale in as many hours. T'Pol had explained to Hoshi that she had been in communication with Trip. Although it wasn't a total shock, the bond was fascinating to Hoshi. She was also amazed that T'Pol had admitted its existence, even under their circumstances.

"Did Trip say how Malcolm was doing?" asked Hoshi.

T'Pol lifted her head to look at her colleague.

"No."

Hoshi sighed.

"May I ask you a personal question, Commander?" said Hoshi.

"You may ask. I can't promise I'll answer."

"What was it like for you and Trip when you first - you know - started to be more than friends. Things were crazy in the Expanse and both of you were in constant danger - it must have added to the stress of things. . ."

T'Pol lifted an eyebrow. She was astute enough to realize something must be going on between officers Sato and Reed.

"It was the stress of the Expanse that brought us together," said T'Pol, "without it, I doubt we ever would have embarked on such an unconventional relationship."

Hoshi took another sip.

"You guys weren't attracted before that?"

"We were attracted. We just had the self control not to act upon it. However, I do not regret the events of the Expanse. They have enhanced my life a great deal."

Hoshi leaned over.

"I know it is none of my business, but when exactly did you two become more than friends. There were lots of rumors. . ."

T'Pol suppressed her annoyance. Hoshi's prying was typically human in that she was no doubt seeking to analog her relationship with Lt. Commander Reed to T'Pol's relationship with her husband.

"We became sexually involved around the time we had the sphere builder aboard the ship," said T'Pol in a clipped tone, "However, we had developed strong feelings for one another before that. Vulcans often wait years before engaging in sexual relations with their mates, even after marriage. We can develop strong attachments to our mates without a physical expression of it. . ."

"So you were in love with Trip before that?"

"In a manner of speaking," said T'Pol, not liking to think of some of the traumas that had occurred back then.

"I suppose it makes sense," said Hoshi, "You work closely with someone over the years. There's a spark but you ignore it because you don't want things to get weird - then something happens and the spark becomes an explosion and then. . ."

T'Pol's face remained a mask.

"I'm fond of Lt. Commander Reed," said T'Pol, "He's a good officer. He would make a fine mate for any human woman."

Hoshi thought about this. Vulcans could sometimes see the world so simply.

"I suppose. Whatever problems we face would be small compared to what you and Trip went through, and you two are still together."

T'Pol was silent.

"I'm really happy for you two, by the way," continued Hoshi, "I know things must have been hellish for you last year."

T'Pol took a deep breath. It was not a Vulcan custom to express such sympathy or admiration or happiness, but she accepted it in the spirit in which it was given.

"Vulcan mates bind themselves together in grief rather than allowing themselves to be torn apart," said T'Pol, "I did not believe that Trip would understand that at first, but he did."

"That's really nice," said Hoshi softly.

"Yes," said T'Pol.

"I hope Malcolm isn't too worried about me," said Hoshi.


	11. Chapter 11

The one doctor on the Romulan mining colony looked down at her young patient with pity. She knew little of the reasons he had been shot by his brother, but family squabbles among the patricians often turned violent. It wasn't for her to judge her patients, only treat them and give them comfort. He was quite unconscious, and so she had removed his restraints in order to better treat him.

They boy's wound was healing well. He had remarkable physical resilience given that his arm had nearly been shot off by a particle weapon.

She dabbed his head with a damp cloth.

"I'm sure everything will be fine," she said softly.

She turned to read one of her scanners and before she really knew what was happening, she collapsed to the floor.

"You are right," said Ston, "Everything is going to be fine."

* * *

Hoshi and T'Pol both dressed in their Starfleet uniforms that morning, in preparation for what they hoped would be their release.

"As interesting as yesterday was," said Hoshi, "I'm glad it's over, and remind me never to drink Romulan Ale again. I feel awful."

"I can join you in that resolution," said T'Pol, "and I will add that I hope I will never have the opportunity to taste it again."

Hoshi walked to the window and looked at the desolate landscape that shimmered and glowed in the morning sun.

"It's strange," she said, "T'Pol, do you see the sky glowing?"

T'Pol looked out the window.

"No," she said.

"I think I'm seeing dilithium dust in the atmosphere," said Hoshi, "It's probably kicked up by the mining operation. Malcolm said he saw the dilithium glow in the lab."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

"He believes the Andorian chemical you two ingested widened the light spectrum of your eyes," said T'Pol somewhat skeptically.

Hoshi sighed.

"Isn't it dangerous? The dilithium, I mean. We probably shouldn't be ingesting it, right?"

Hoshi had firmly resolved to be more careful about what substances she ingested.

There was a furious knock on the door, odd since their stay had been somewhat serene.

T'Pol opened the door to see Enme, dressed in his Romulan uniform and looking frantic.

"We must get to the basement bomb shelter immediately," he stated firmly.

Hoshi and T'Pol exchanged glances and followed Enme out the door and down the main stairs and into the back portion of the house. They quickly made their way through the kitchen and down a narrow set of stairs to a vault-like door.

The three of them went through and found themselves in the shelter.

Enme quickly sealed the door behind them. T'Pol noticed two Remans were also in the shelter — sitting quietly in a corner.

"My brother has escaped," said Enme, "The moronic doctor on this godforsaken rock decided he didn't need his restraints. He knocked her over the head and made his way to my ship."

"He should be easy enough to stop," said T'Pol, thinking that the boy would be no match for experienced Romulan guards.

"It's not him that is the concern. If he takes off in my ship, and he might, the exhaust will ignite the atmosphere — blowing us all to hell."

Hoshi's mouth dropped open.

"Like the Paraagan Colony?"

Enme didn't recognize the reference, but T'Pol clearly remembered.

"Does he not know of the danger?"

"No," said Enme, "My ship is a military prototype actually powered by dilithium. A normal transport wouldn't generate enough heat for ignition."

T'Pol sat down on a bench.

"You believe we'll be safe in this shelter?"

"It was built to withstand everything and anything an enemy might throw at this colony. So, I'd say there's a good chance."

Enme ran to a viewscreen in the corner of the shelter. He tapped some information into it.

"Can't anything ever go smoothly?" said Hoshi as she sat down next to T'Pol.

"What do we do now?" asked T'Pol.

"We wait for about ten minutes," said Enme.

* * *

Far away on Romulus, The ProConsul was ignorant of his children's peril. Instead, he sat in the fine living room of another patrician family and sipped some Romulan tea while conversing with a young woman. She had jet-black hair and grey eyes, as was common among the upper classes of Romulus, and she had gotten excellent marks in school. She was also quite pretty, he thought.

"So, Bala," said the ProConsul, "Are you excited to meet my son, Enme?

The girl sipped her tea with precision.

"My father says I should be, so I am," said the girl.

The ProConsul refrained from rolling his eyes. The girl's family were long time rivals of his family, and a marriage between the two houses would be excellent for both of them. However, this particular family were notorious for their subservient daughters. The ProConsul feared this girl might bore his son to death.

Suddenly, an aide appeared in the doorway.

"I told you not to disturb us," said the ProConsul.

"Your excellency," he said, "I've received alarming news."

The ProConsul got up and learned of the destruction of the the dilithium mines and the likely death of at least one of his sons. They did not yet know which of his children was piloting the prototype, but The ProConsul knew that Enme would never be so stupid as to allow the atmosphere to ignite that way.

* * *

Trip found himself in white space, without warning. T'Pol stood there in her Starfleet uniform looking serious.

_There's been an accident at the colony. The dilithium in the atmosphere has been ignited, much like the attack on the Paraagen colony two and a half years ago. _

_Are you hurt? Is Hoshi okay? _

_We are safe in a shelter. We had some warning that the explosion was about to occur, but we will likely need your assistance to get off the planet._

_We're almost there. Malcolm thinks he can navigate a shuttle around the minefield. _

_Strategically, it would be wise for Starfleet to attempt to disable the minefield and take possession of this planet. _

_Understood._

The last thing on Trip's mind was the strategic value of that planet, but she was right. This was an opportunity the Alliance needed to use to its advantage.

_How did it happen? _

_An inexperienced pilot stole a vessel powered by dilithium, which ignited the atmosphere when most other vessels would not. _

_Are Romulans usually that careless? _

_No. I must go. Be careful and hurry. It won't be long before warbirds arrive. _

_

* * *

_Captain Archer looked at Admiral Williams on the viewscreen. He appeared confident and grim all at once.

"This could start a full-scale war," said Archer.

"We are aware of that," said the admiral, "but we'd rather do that on our schedule than theirs. We'll let these Romulans know that we won't just cower and wait for their attacks."

The admiral had just informed archer that_ Columbia_, three Vulcan War Cruisers, four Andorian warships and six small Tellarite battleships were on their way, all with express orders to secure the mining planet from the Romulans. Earth had also constructed several smaller, sleeker and better armed Warp 5 vessels in the last year, and two of those were en route. Two more were staying behind to guard Earth. None of it seemed enough given the fact that the Romulans might have hundreds of drones and dozens of warbirds.

However, given the recent accident, this might be their best chance to wrest the dilithium operation from the Empire and obtain the substance for the Alliance.

"We can't recognize any claim they have on that planet, Jon," said Williams grimly.

"Hopefully, they aren't ready to mount a full scale invasion, and we'll have more time to build ships and gather forces," replied Jon.

"Good luck," said Williams.

"Thanks," said Archer.

Jon instinctively reached into his cabinet for a bottle of bourbon, but he hesitated.

"Dammit," he said, looking down a Porthos, "What the hell am I doing?"

He closed the cabinet without removing the bottle.

Everything in engineering was busy, with Trip's staff working carefully on getting the warp drive in optimal shape and assisting Malcolm's staff in making sure all weapons were at the ready.

Trip, meanwhile, was personally working on making sure the shuttle sensors were modified to detect cloaked mines. They were also trying to shield the pod from Romulan sensors, though they weren't sure that would be necessary now that the colony was all but destroyed.

"I can't believe the captain won't let me accompany you to the surface," said Trip.

"The chief engineer can't be going on rescue missions," replied Malcolm stiffly, "especially ones involving the rescue of his wife."

Malcolm looked over at his friend and sighed. He was sympathetic, and he was grateful no one knew of his personal attachment to Hoshi.

"We'll be fine," said Malcolm, "Down to the surface and back up."

Trip nodded. He wished to hell that the transporter was an option, but the radiation levels in the atmosphere made that option too risky. It had never been the plan to take a shuttlepod to the surface, only have one circumnavigate the planet and take scans. Now, it was going to land.

T'Pol had told him they would stay near the shelter if at all possible, but she wasn't able to articulate their location beyond describing the topography and her sense that they were somewhere on a southern continent. Luckily, the giant blast gave them a general idea of where they need to look. The sensors would then need to look for a human biosign and that would be that.

* * *

Enme continued to tap into the console, but he appeared frustrated.

"The transmitter grid is out," he said, "but hopefully a warbird is on the way due to the explosion."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. The last time they had encountered a Romulan minefield, a warbird had been nearby. Considering the strategic value of this planet, she wondered why a warbird wasn't in orbit. Perhaps the Empire did not have as many ships as they wanted the Alliance to think they did.

"T'Pol," said Hoshi, "Come here."

Hoshi was kneeling by one of the Remans, who appeared to be asleep.

"I don't think he's alive," continued Hoshi.

T'Pol examined the alien.

"He could be in some sort of a deep coma. Without a tricorder, I cannot be certain."

"He's dead," said Enme, who had given up on the communicator. "Remans are sensitive to radiation poisoning."

Enme began to rifle through a few of the storage drawers that lined the shelter. He pulled out what appeared to be a medical kit and a scanner. After a few moments, he pressed a hypospray into his neck.

"T'Pol," he said, "this should prevent you from getting the radiation sickness. Lt. Sato, we'll need to adjust the dosage for your human system. The scanner will help me do that."

T'Pol approached her brother and sat down next to him.

"What about the other Reman?"

Enme appeared surprised.

"I don't even know if it would work on him," said Enme, "They are very sensitive and their physiology is totally different."

"Try," said T'Pol, as he administered the drug to her.

"After I'm done with Lt. Sato," said Enme, who was scanning Hoshi.

He adjusted the hypospray.

"It wants me to put an additive in to dilute it manually. I think we have some of that," he said, reaching into the drawer.

"Hurry," said Hoshi, "this other Reman doesn't look well at all."

Enme resisted rolling his eyes. Concern for Remans? These two just didn't understand the order of things, he thought sadly. They were both going to have some adjusting to do once the Empire had annexed Earth and Vulcan.

He applied a hypospray to Hoshi.

"Thank you," she said, "Now do him."

Enme approached the Reman and scanned him as he did Hoshi. He then adjusted the hypospray and applied it to the man's neck.

"We'll see if that works," said Enme doubtfully.

Hoshi glanced over at T'Pol, who was her usual stoic self. No doubt it didn't surprise her how callous these Romulans were regarding Remans.

"What shall we do with the body?" asked T'Pol, who had determined the other Reman was indeed dead.

Enme stood up and threw the body of the Reman over his shoulder. He opened the hatch door and walked out. He had no plans to watch the Reman decompose, and now that they were all inoculated, the danger from the outside would be minimal.

* * *

While her brother was outside the shelter, T'Pol looked at Hoshi and nodded. Hoshi knew about the bond, and T'Pol wanted to reassure her that the ship knew of their situation. Rescue was might only be hours away.

"Remans burn their dead," said Enme as he returned, "So the best I could do was the incinerator."

Hoshi winced at this disrespect, but she said nothing.

"Did you assess the state of the house? Will we be able to reach the outside easily?"

"I don't think the house is livable," said Enme, "Although, that's not saying much. But we should be able to climb through the rubble and reach the surface. Don't worry. I'm sure the Empire has already sent crews to investigate. They will find us."

T'Pol nodded. Little did he know that it was a Starfleet vessel that could very well arrive first.

* * *

Ston flew the small, one person ship at the highest warp. His piloting skills were minimal, but the interface made sense and he knew he would be on Romulus in just a matter of days. He wasn't sure what his father had been told about the adventure of recent days, but he was sure he would be able to explain everything away. The destruction of the mining colony was accidental, but he believed it could work in his favor. Besides Maleek, everyone with first-hand knowledge of the dilithium being transferred to T'Pol was dead. Or so Ston assumed. And Maleek wouldn't be a problem. He would just have to find away to convince father to take care of that for him. He knew he could do that, now that Enme was dead.

* * *

Six hours later, _Enterprise_ was at all stop on the edge of the minefield. The sensors had been adjusted and the mines appeared on the viewscreen. Trip was on the bridge and he sat next to Malcolm reviewing the data.

"It shouldn't be too difficult," said Malcolm, "The only defensive system still operational is the minefield. They had some sort of photonic missile system but it seems to have been destroyed in accident. That was the system that defended against smaller vessels.

"What about Romulan ships? Any signs of them?" asked the Captain.

"Not yet," said Malcolm, knowing full well that may well be a bad sign as easily as it could be a good sign.

"Travis, you're with Mr. Reed," said the captain.

"Yes, sir," said Travis as he followed Malcolm to the shuttlebay, where two of Malcolm's security team would be waiting for them.

"Trip," said Archer, "in my ready room."

Trip followed Archer into the ready room, where they would be away from the curious ears of some of the junior staff.

"Have you heard from T'Pol?"

"Not since the last time," he said, "I imagine she'll want to keep contact to a minimum, given that she's in the company of a high-ranking Romulan officer. Wouldn't want to tip her hand."

"Smart of her," said Jon, "but I need you to be ready to try and contact her if the away team has any trouble."

"Yes sir," replied Trip, "Captain, how's Starfleet's mood — regarding T'Pol?"

"I didn't tell them the motivation for the kidnapping," said Archer, "I didn't think it was relevant."

Trip nodded. Jon didn't want to lose T'Pol, and by extension Trip. So, he wasn't going to give Starfleet any reason to see T'Pol as an unnecessary risk.

"However," continued Jon, "they are very pleased at the intelligence she has gathered and the opportunity to take control of that mining planet."

Trip swallowed. He didn't like the idea of the Alliance making the first move in this conflict, but he also knew just how dangerous dilithium would be in the wrong hands, and the Romulans were the wrong hands.

"In the meantime," said Archer, "get back to engineering."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"I'm done with staying cooped up," said Enme, "I say we go to the surface."

"If you believe it is safe," said T'Pol.

"What about the Reman?" said Hoshi.

Enme shrugged.

"He can come with us. We might need someone to serve us drinks."

Hoshi stepped over to the curled up alien, and she spoke to him softly in Romulan, despite the fact that Enme had a UT on him. The Reman sat up, and Hoshi helped him stand.

The four of them exited the shelter and up the stairs. The basement room smelled of burning flesh from the dead Reman, but they quickly passed through and up to what was the back of the house. Enme, using all his strength, managed to remove the debris from a back door and they found themselves in the outside.

Rather than smelling fresh, the air smelt burnt and there was a stench of death in the breeze. There had been approximately 300 Romulans living down the hill in the colony proper, and Enme assumed they had all been killed.

"It was more pleasant in the shelter," he said, surveying the wasteland that used to be the colony.

Hoshi looked around and couldn't help thinking of the incident with the Paaragans. It was unthinkable that something like this could happen, and yet if a substance was valuable enough, it may be considered worth the risk.

T'Pol looked at Hoshi. It was vital that they had left the shelter, as it was unlikely the shuttlepod's senors would be able to pick up their biosigns there.

"Is there a place where we should head?" asked T'Pol, "An area where rescue would be most likely?"

Enme shook his head.

"A warbird would be able to detect us anywhere on this continent, and they would send a craft to retrieve us. Don't worry. It will likely be no more than a day or so. We should probably stick close to the shelter, as that is where rations and facilities are located."

"Perhaps we should search for other survivors," suggested Hoshi.

"If that would entertain you," said Enme, "but I doubt there are any survivors so close to the mines where the fire would have been hotter. Even if people made it to the shelters there, they would have been cooked inside them."

Hoshi sighed. She hoped the shuttlepod would arrive soon.

* * *

Malcolm looked carefully at the sensor data.

"One human biosign. Two Vulcan. One unknown."

"Could that be a Romulan, sir?" asked Travis.

"Possibly," lied Malcolm. He guessed there was only one Vulcan down there and one Romulan.

"Set a course to land nearby," said Malcolm, "Make sure your phasers are set to stun, but maximum setting."

* * *

The shuttle approached the surface of the mining colony, heading to the remains of the VIP house.

T'Pol saw the light in the sky first. She recognized it as an _Enterprise_ shuttlepod, given that it was unlikely a Romulan vessel would emit light of that shape and size in the sky. She glanced over at her brother, wondering how he would react to being rescued by a group of humans. If their situation wasn't so serious, she might have found the notion amusing.

"Enme," she said, "do you believe that Ston might come back?"

"He probably assumes we are dead," said Enme, "So I think he's likely gone back to try and save himself somehow. I do hope he's capable of feeling a little guilt. Although, he might just be a…do you have a word for it…psychopath?"

"Oh," said Hoshi, "We have a word for it. A few actually."

"I suppose people without conscience exist in all humanoid societies," said Enme, "How is the Reman?"

"Not well," said Hoshi, "He needs medical attention."

Enme sighed, but before he could respond he looked up at the light in the sky that had become large and was moving closer.

"Help may be on its way," he said tentatively.

T'Pol glanced at Hoshi. Hoshi looked up at the sky and also clearly recognized the shape of a shuttlepod. Very soon, its shape became more apparent in the sky.

From the look on his face, T'Pol assumed Enme realized it was not a Romulan vessel. He also seemed to recognize that neither his sister nor the human woman appeared surprised or worried.

"Friends of yours?" he said.

"A shuttle from our vessel," said T'Pol, "I'm sure our captain will be willing to help you and the Reman return to Romulan space. We are not yet officially at war, after all."

Enme bit his lip and instinctively reached for his sidearm, which was not there. He had left it in the house and it was currently under piles of rubble. There was likely a particle rifle in the shelter, but he had not brought it with him. He mumbled to himself —something about his foolishness and arrogance.

As Enme paced a bit, he looked at his sister. She looked at him. They both knew she had the upper hand.

"I'll introduce you as Vulcan, if you like," said T'Pol, "It's the least I can do in return for your kindness."

Hoshi glanced at T'Pol, T'Pol's offer had way more to do with keeping the identity of the Romulans a secret than any protection for her brother.

"However," she said, "I advise you not to smile or show any emotion, lest you give yourself away."

Enme nodded and looked down at his uniform. 

"Will these humans be so dense as to believe I am a Vulcan?"

Before T'Pol or Hoshi could answer, the shuttle had landed. Malcolm, Travis and two security officers emerged from the shuttle.

Malcolm approached T'Pol.

"Commander," he said, "what is the situation?"

"We are the only four survivors of the blast, as far as we know. We have all been inoculated against the radiation, but the Reman is still quite ill and should be taken to sickbay as soon as possible"

Malcolm looked at Enme.

"Phlox inoculated all of us before we left the ship. What about him?"

"He is fine. He is a…a Vulcan who was also a prisoner here."

Malcolm recognized the un-Vulcan hesitation in her voice. It wasn't like her, and that was enough for him to realize the young man was a Romulan - one wearing a military uniform.

"He is unarmed," said T'Pol.

"Good," said Malcolm, "No time to waste. Let's get going."

"I believe I should stay," said Enme, "I think that I might try and look for survivors…"

"I can't allow that," said Malcolm, "It's too dangerous."

Enme walked up to Malcolm and towered over him.

"I insist," said Enme.

Malcolm stunned him with a phase pistol.

"Was that really necessary, Lt. Commander?" asked T'Pol.

"If you want the man to live it is. There are at least two dozen Alliance shipped headed here to take this planet. I seriously doubt one_…Vulcan_ could survive the coming battle."

T'Pol nodded.

"Get him into the pod," ordered Malcolm to his two men. Then, he turned his attention to his two colleagues.

T'Pol noticed a quick glance between Hoshi and Malcolm. It was almost imperceivable, but they were clearly glad to see each other.

"You two are looking well," said Malcolm.

"Romulans are very polite hosts," said Hoshi who was assisting the Reman, "and I've even learned a great deal about their language. Of course, there's little doubt in my mind they have every intention of invading and conquering every habited planet in this sector."

"Is that a Romulan?" asked Travis, amazed at the Reman.

"No," said Hoshi, honestly, "It's a Reman. Romulans use them as slaves."

They all entered the shuttle and took their seats, and Travis took off toward _Enterprise_, hoping they would be able to arrive and dock before any Romulan ships arrived.


	12. Chapter 12

The shuttlepod landed safely in the bay of the ship, and Malcolm had formulated a plan in his head. He didn't want to place the Romulan into the brig, as he didn't want to field questions as to why a Vulcan was in the brig in the first place. He would have this man confined to his quarters until Starfleet figured out what to do with him.

He looked over at the tall, obviously military man who was slumped unconscious next to T'Pol, and he instinctively knew that he wouldn't be an easy man to hold secure. The man was also glowing slightly, as were T'Pol and Hoshi. No doubt their skin and hair was coated with a thin layer of dilithium dust. Luckily, it appeared the he and the rest of the landing party had been spared the same fate, possibly because most of the dilithium dust in the planet's atmosphere had been ignited.

He glanced over at Hoshi, who had not yet met his eyes on the journey. As much as Malcolm focused on his job and the professional nature of the current situation, he was hyper-aware of her presence, and he suspected she was experiencing the same thing. He took a quick breath and focused on his job.

"The man should be unconscious for several more hours. Once he clears decon, I want him confined to guest quarters with three guards outside. Phase pistols set on maximum stun setting," ordered Malcolm.

As it turned out, Phlox determined decon was the best place to rid Hoshi, T'Pol and Enme of the dilithium dust. Malcolm's men carried Enme into the decon chamber. Malcolm had already taken an image of the uniform to send to Starfleet intelligence.

"Take off the uniform and destroy it," ordered Malcolm, "we can get him a jumpsuit to wear."

This man needed to understand he wasn't a soldier anymore. He was a prisoner.

* * *

About an hour later, Hoshi and T'Pol sat in the decon chamber and stared at the unconscious Enme.

"It seems a shame we can't let him go," said Hoshi, "He did rescue us."

"He was unaware that hostilities were about to break out. Had he known, it is unlikely we would have been released."

Hoshi nodded.

"He's still your brother," said Hoshi.

"I only met him yesterday," said T'Pol.

Hoshi looked at T'Pol's face. She appeared as Vulcan as ever, no hint that this lousy situation bothered her. Hoshi, for her part, suddenly felt that she was on the wrong side of the moral fence. She knew war was about to begin, but she never thought the Alliance would make the move that started it.

* * *

For her part, T'Pol had begun to wonder where Trip was, specifically. She sensed him nearby, and the relief he felt at her safe return. No doubt he wanted to spare her an emotional reunion in front of the crew, so he had not met them in the launch bay. Perhaps he would come to decon but possibly not. He might find it frustrating not to be able to touch her. She thought about meditating and finding him in white space, but she decided against it. Too many distractions. She would see Trip soon enough. She was patient.

Phlox appeared in the window.

"You're all clear. There's a security team to take our guest to his quarters. The captain is currently on a subspace conference call with various members of the Alliance. He said he would like to meet with you for a debriefing in three hours. You are to rest until then. You are both ordered to return to your quarters."

* * *

T'Pol opened the door to her home, knowing Trip was inside. She walked in and saw him standing there on the opposite end of the room, leaning against the bulkhead. The scent of him washed over her, mixing with the other familiar scents of their shared life. For the first time since her rescue, she felt her guard start to let down. It was strange that less than a day ago, it had been a real possibility that she would never experience the comforts of this room again.

"I came to sickbay," he said softly, "but I knew you wouldn't like a scene in front of the others. So I left once Phlox told me your were fine."

"Thank you. I might have found it difficult to maintain appropriate restraint."

"I doubt that," he said, half-smiling.

She felt his torrent of emotions starting to come undone. Now that she was safe, he wasn't finding it so easy to keep them wrapped up. She crossed the room to stand in front of him.

She held her hand up, but in his daze, he didn't move. She took his hand with her free one and guided it to her right hand and entwined his fingers with hers. She wasn't exactly the model of the serene Vulcan at the moment, but she had more control than him. She gifted him with some of that control, just as she experienced some of the terror he had felt when she was gone. A mixture of fear, helplessness and anger flowed into her mind, and she was dizzy.

He broke the link of their fingers to hold her steady, and then he led her into the bedroom. He laid her down gently, and then finally took her into his arms. As he cradled her, he breathed in the familiar copper smell of her hair and skin.

"I'm sorry I overwhelmed you," he whispered, "I didn't want to do that."

"I'm sorry my peril caused you such fear," she said, "and I'm glad to be home."

They stayed silent for a long while. Words of love and longing and gratitude for her safety were redundant.

Gradually, she began to speak of her ordeal. She had experienced worse, but the situation had been filled with precarious unknowns. Finally, she reached a critical part of her story.

"So the Romulan that we have as a prisoner is your brother, too?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Trip sat up and looked into her eyes, where he found no hint of conflict. He didn't even see a hint of curiosity.

"He saved you and Hoshi," he said.

"He's also an officer in the Romulan Imperial Military Command," she said, "and he would not have released us had he known outright warfare was imminent. I am more concerned with our ability to safely hold him. He strikes me as a formidable person."

"Are you going to go talk to him when he wakes up?"

"If the captain thinks its appropriate," she said.

Trip closed his eyes. Nobody was supposed to even know that Romulans and Vulcans looked alike. Now they had a high-ranking Romulan officer as a prisoner, and the man was also his brother-in-law. And the war was about to start. What more could possibly happen?

* * *

Hoshi was curled up on her bed staring out at the stars when the chime on her door rang. She sat up and put her feet on the ground. They were bare, but she had put on a fresh uniform.

"Come in," she said.

Malcolm appeared in the doorway. She looked up at him, and he looked down at her. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. Their lips met, bodies entwined and they fell back on the bed. Unlike their last time together, there was nothing careful about this coupling. It was a blur. Before either of them realized it what had happened, they found themselves naked, facing one another on the bed with a shared sense of euphoria and relief.

"I'm glad you're safe," he said finally.

"Me too," she said.

"How's the prisoner?" she asked.

"Still unconscious," said Malcolm.

"He rescued us," said Hoshi, "We probably wouldn't have escaped our captors without him. We certainly wouldn't have survived the blast without him warning us."

Malcolm nodded. He couldn't believe he owed a Romulan officer a debt of gratitude.

"I want to let him go," she continued.

Malcolm looked at her.

"Fairness and honor aren't usually part of war, despite what you might have seen in movies," he sighed.

"What are we going to do with him?"

"I don't know," replied Malcolm.

* * *

"You want me to what?" asked Archer.

He was debriefing T'Pol and Hoshi in his private mess, over dinner. It was an informal space for such an official matter, but it was also very private. The Romulan-Vulcan connection was in danger of being revealed over this incident, and Archer needed to figure out how to keep it under wraps while keeping a Romulan prisoner on his ship. Now he suspected T'Pol and Hoshi had contracted a mild case of Stockholm syndrome.

"You should have him to dinner tomorrow night," said T'Pol, "Of course, we'll keep him under guard, but if we treat him as a guest he'll likely behave as one. From what I have witnessed in two encounters, Romulans respect family and hospitality. So I will join you, of course."

Archer sat back in his chair. He instinctively reached of a glass of wine, which wasn't there given the official nature of the proceedings.

"We're a few hours away from full scale war with them," said Archer, "Two days, at the most."

"He doesn't know that," said Hoshi, "and you owe him your thanks for saving us, regardless of the circumstances."

"We can't return a high-ranking member of their military to them. If he were a civilian, I'd say let him go…"

"We haven't asked you to let him go," said T'Pol, "I am advising you that from a strategic point of view, treating him with hospitality will make him a less dangerous prisoner."

Archer turned to Hoshi, who had gotten a look at their literary database.

"Their literature is full of references to hospitality. It's definitely a cultural trait," said Hoshi, "We were treated as guests by both of the groups that held us. I think if we treat him roughly, he'll respond in kind, and he strikes me as someone with the skills to be very threatening."

Archer closed his eyes and imagined writing a report to Starfleet that involved hosting a dinner party for a high-ranking Romulan officer a few hours before the war started. He supposed stranger things had happened, but he found the juxtaposition between his planning for the upcoming battle and the thought of socializing. . .odd.

"What should we serve?"

"They aren't vegetarians," said Hoshi, thinking of the pigeon she'd eaten.

* * *

Enme awoke in a strange, sparse room aboard a starship, wearing a very plain and thus degrading jumpsuit. Thankfully, however, they had left him his boots, which not only had been custom fitted to his feet but had also been well-broken in by now, despite their polish. He sat up and looked out the window, gratefully noting that the ship wasn't at warp.

He gradually remembered being stunned by one of the humans and assumed that he was aboard their ship. He didn't know why they had bothered to take him, but these quarters didn't appear like a prison cell. He inhaled the cool air of the ship and shivered. Humans apparently preferred cooler temperatures.

_I'm not a prisoner_, he thought, _so they will likely release me. _

He noticed a pitcher and glasses on the desk. The pitcher was filled with water, and he poured himself a glass.

_Water_, he thought. _Barbaric_. _We'd have left fine ale. _

He drank a glass of water, and then went to open the door. He couldn't make it open so he pounded at it.

"I've awakened," he shouted.

The door opened.

"Good Evening," said the security officer.

"Where am I? When I am to be released?"

"I'll alert the captain and Commander T'Pol that you've awakened. It's the middle of the night, you see. However, we are under orders to bring you whatever you request to eat or drink."

"I don't know what to request," said Enme, "I met my first human only this morning, so I have no clue what you people eat."

"I'll have whatever Chef made for Commander T'Pol brought to you," said the guard, "I believe he saved some for you."

"I suppose that would be fine," said Enme, realizing the guard assumed he was a Vulcan, "Thank you."

If the guard noticed this man was expressing more emotion than a Vulcan should, he didn't appear surprised. He just shut the door.

* * *

Archer looked at Admiral Williams's face on the screen.

"Under no circumstances can you release him," ordered the Admiral.

"I agree, but what will we do with him?" said Jon.

"I've already contacted the Vulcans," he said, "They will take custody of him. Once the battle or skirmish or whatever it is that is about to happen happens, their battleship will take the man aboard. It will be up to them what to do with him. They are far more equipped to deal with him."

Jon nodded.

"You understand your orders? _Enterprise_ will only be providing support to the more battle ready ships. She wasn't designed as a warship - you are to leave the heavy lifting to the ships that were."

Jon nodded.

"But make sure your sickbay is ready. The battleships will be transporting patients to you. We've got three doctors to transport over, as soon as they arrive. They will be assisting Phlox."

"We'll do our part," said Jon.

"I look forward to reading your report. I'd love the opportunity to sit down to dinner with a Romulan."

Jon said nothing.

"Good luck, Jonathan."

"Thanks, Admiral"

* * *

The chime rang on Enme's door.

"It is beyond my power to open the door," he shouted, "Something which you undoubtedly know!"

The door opened, and he saw his sister standing there. She wore her official blue uniform with its blue stripe around her shoulders. It occurred to him that he had no idea what the blue designated.

She stood at ease, and she was unaccompanied by the guards. He stood across from her in a Romulan Military pose, hands at behind his back, legs straight.

"Hello, sister," said Enme.

She nodded.

"Are you fully recovered from being stunned?"

"Yes," said Enme, "I feel fine."

"I have experienced the same thing. It is not pleasant, but you should feel no adverse side effects."

"Why didn't the humans leave me on the planet?"

"The Alliance believes the mining colony to be of strategic value. The have decided not to recognize the Romulan claim to it. Ships will arrive shortly to seize control of this system."

"So," said Enme, "your leaders have gone mad, then."

"Under the circumstances," said T'Pol, "Lt. Commander Reed felt you would be safer aboard _Enterprise_."

"So," he said, "I assume I won't be let go."

"It is unlikely. However, if your people allow the Alliance to take the mining colony peacefully. . ."

Enme rolled his eyes.

"You know as well as I the odds of that happening…"

"Yes," she said, "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he said.

"Nonetheless, the captain wishes to dine with you this evening," she said, gesturing to the chronometer. It was no longer night but early morning.

"I accept the invitation. It's always good to meet one's gaoler."

"He's a good man. Honorable," she said.

Enme looked at his sister. Her face was bloody unreadable. No expression whatsoever. She looked like a Romulan, but she sure as hell didn't emote like one. No wonder his ancestors had made the exodus. It would be a peculiar kind of hell to live among people that never expressed emotion.

"You know I'll eventually have to try and escape."

She nodded.

"That would be unwise at the moment. Our escape pods and shuttles are short-range, and we are very near the minefield. It is doubtful you would make it to the planet's surface. If you did, you would probably be killed in the upcoming conflict or taken by the Alliance again."

Enme smirked.

"So you are advising me to try and escape later," he sighed.

"I am simply pointing out that currently, an escape attempt would be illogical."

"I'm a Romulan," he said, "I'm not logical."

"Nevertheless," she said, "we'll treat you well."

"They sent me vegetarian food. I hardly call the treating me well."

"Most of the humans believe you to be a Vulcan who was working with the Romulans. They don't know of our kinship."

"By kinship — do you mean Vulcan and Romulans or you and me?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

"I suppose I mean both, brother."

He thought for a moment. Romulans and Vulcans were far apart on many things but keeping their kinship a secret was one issue upon which they agreed. He wasn't about to enlighten anyone aboard this ship about his true ethnicity. Also, he thought, he would likely gain the confidence of people aboard if they thought he was a Vulcan. He resolved to not smile anymore, if he could help himself. He bit his lip at the thought.

"You must be happy to be back aboard. This ship is your home, is it not?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yes."

"Well, I hope for your sake and mine this ship isn't destroyed in the upcoming conflict."

"I shall see you tonight, brother."

"I look forward to it, sister."


	13. Chapter 13

Trip awoke, startled to find himself alone. It took a moment for him to remember that T'Pol had been safely returned to him. He closed his eyes and felt no sense of peril, no need from her. She was just gone.

He sat up and reached from the comm system, but he stopped short. He suspected where she was, and it made him more than uneasy. The captain had given her 24 hours off recover, so she wasn't on duty. That is, she had the day off as long as the shooting didn't start. But if it had started, he would have been awakened as well.

He turned on the light and grabbed a PADD off the nightstand. For the next few minutes he pretended to concentrate on the latest article in a warp field journal, then he heard the door open. T'Pol appeared in the doorway.

"I hope I didn't wake you," she said.

"You went to see him," he said.

"Yes," he said, "The captain thought it was a good idea, given our family connection."

"How is he?"

"He is physically well. As expected, he is restless and unhappy at being a prisoner."

T'Pol sat down on the edge of the bed and took of her boots. She then crawled up next to Trip, who looked at her half-accusingly.

"He poses no danger to me."

"Well, at the very least, I'm glad it's not your other brother who is stuck in our brig. This one seems sane at least."

T'Pol nodded.

"Sane. But Romulan to the core. He will try and escape."

"How does that make you feel?" said Trip.

She looked at him as if the question had no meaning.

"He's your brother, and he saved you and Hoshi. We've got a saying on Earth, blood is thicker than water."

Still no reaction.

"Honey," said Trip, "you've got no family left on Vulcan. It would be only natural for you to be curious about him or sympathize with him…"

T'Pol tilted her head at Trip.

"That is a human perspective. He may be my half-sibling, but he is Romulan and I am Vulcan. We are different. We also don't know each other."

"But family…"

T'Pol slipped her hand into Trip's.

"You're my family," she said.

* * *

The ProConsul looked down at the screen in front of him to see his son Ston smirking at him with infuriating smugness.

"I'm telling you father. It wasn't me that gave her the dilithium sample. It was Enme. He was the traitor, not me. Now he's dead."

The ProConsul's face remained stoic — nearly Vulcan. He knew damn well that it was Ston and not Enme who had exposed the mining operation. He also knew that Ston's incompetence had led to the deaths on the mining colony that included his beloved Enme and possibly T'Pol. The ProConsul held out hope that she had left for her ship before the explosion, and he had intelligence officers working on confirmation of that. However, he wasn't sure what he was going to do with his insane son.

On the one hand, the ProConsul would have liked to kill him with his own hands for what he had done. On the other hand, he was alive and Enme was dead. Suddenly, his only living, unmarried son had become very important to him.

As much as it sickened him to do so, the ProConsul resolved to follow the living. He would protect his prodigal son and protect the new alliance — even if it meant destroying the memory of his dead son.

Ston's lie would have to stand.

"Come home to Romulus as soon as you can, my son," said The ProConsul before abruptly hanging up. He stood up and went into the next room, where the girl Bala sat quietly with her Reman servant.

"My son Ston will arrive soon," he said, "It is now important that you meet him."

* * *

Malcolm and Hoshi were curled up under the covers in her quarters, sharing a bottle of wine and looking out at the stars. She had been saving the bottle for a special occasion, and she couldn't think of a more special occasion that her rescue and subsequent reunion with Malcolm.

_Besides_, she thought, _given that a massive war is about to start, I'd better seize the moment_.

"Did I tell you how happy I am that you're safe?" said Malcolm.

"I think that's the twentieth time," she laughed.

"Remind me to stop around 100," said Malcolm. "So, he's really T'Pol's brother?"

"It seems so," said Hoshi.

"How did she react?"

"Like a Vulcan," said Hoshi, "she didn't seem to care one way or another."

"What's he like?"

"Un-Vulcan," she said, "They're totally different, Romulans. They laugh and smile, but even the sane ones seem, well…let's just say I understand Vulcans better after meeting their cousins…they seem very volatile."

Malcolm took a deep breath and remembered his first encounter with the Romulans, which involved having his leg skewered and the rest of him nearly being blown to smithereens.

"We've orders to start dismantling the minefield," said Malcolm, "We're going to start in the morning, even the the first Vulcan cruiser won't arrive until midday."

"At least it will give us something to do," said Hoshi, "I hate the empty waiting around."

"Well, at least we've found something to do with our time…"

Malcolm caressed the top of her shoulder, which peeked out from the blanket that covered them. She smiled softly.

"So…" he said, "we haven't really had time to talk about this…"

"What's there to talk about?"

"Well," he said, "we work together — and well-."

She kissed him on the cheek.

"I don't know what I would have said…days ago, before," she whispered, "but a war is coming. All we have is right now."

Malcolm looked into her eyes, which had started to tear. All the years he had known her, he had never seen her cry. He held up his glass.

"To right now then."

* * *

Trip looked down at his wife's face, which was lit only by the glowing starlight from the window. Her eyes were shut, head thrown back and her hair clung to the sides of her face. He leaned down and kissed her on the neck, as his hands were entwined with hers on either side of her head. He didn't want to move at all or do anything to end this moment. If the war started right then, and the ship blown out of space, he would be happy to die right there, feeling what it was like to be inside her. It was familiar now, yet still somewhat alien. The heat of her body, its copper scent, her strength — even the placement of her heartbeat — these were all different from a human woman. He hadn't known what he was missing, that's for sure. Now, he couldn't imagine being with anyone else.

"Open your eyes," he whispered.

She obeyed him, and their eyes locked. He noticed a subtle twitch at the corners of her mouth — her Vulcan smile.

As if to hide it, she reached up and kissed him on the mouth. They melted into each other, both knowing how precious every moment was.

* * *

Archer sat in his room, alone and sleepless. Even Porthos, sound asleep, was no company. He paced for awhile, then decided to make himself useful. He decided to pay a visit to their guest. He dressed in his uniform, grabbed the best bottle of bourbon he had and walked with as much military efficiency as he could effect. The guard let him past, and he found the Romulan sitting in a chair with his feet up against the bulkhead, looking out the window.

"Good Evening," said Archer, "I'm Captain Archer."

"Commander Enme of the Romulan Star Empire," said Enme "but I suppose you already knew that. My sister or Lieutenant Sato must have informed you of my identity."

Archer looked at the young man, and he was mildly shocked by just how much he resembled T'Pol. Their facial structure, the set of the eyes was all quite similar. His eyes were dark though. Very dark.

"Did T'Pol inform you of the current political situation?"

Enme stood up and faced his captor, suddenly effecting a military posture.

"You've decided to violate the sovereignty of the Empire," he said, exasperation in his voice.

"It's my understanding that your Empire had every ambition to violate the sovereignty of everyone in the Alpha quadrant."

Enme cocked his head to one side.

"Is that what you all call this sector? The Alpha quadrant?"

Archer nodded.

"We do plan on annexing it," he said, "and if you had any sense at all, you'd see the benefits."

Archer laughed. He _laughed_ at his prisoner, who apparently knew nothing about humans and less about Vulcans.

"Why would we do that? You haven't exactly been selling yourselves."

Archer took two glasses from the table and opened the bourbon.

"Commander T'Pol and Lieutenant Sato told me all about Romulan Ale. I figured I'd return the favor you gave them and share this with you. It's from Earth. American whiskey, called bourbon. This bottle is one of the finest you'll find, aged to perfection."

Enme walked over and took the glass.

"It's an unappetizing color," sniffed Enme.

"Most humans consider blue unappetizing. Appropriate for clothes, not consumables."

"Touche," said Enme, "May I propose a toast?"

"Do Romulans toast?"

"A human custom your Lieutenant Sato introduced to me. Apparently it started as a way to determine if one is being poisoned by one's host."

Archer nodded and held up his glass.

"May this ship survive the coming battle," said Enme, "My life depends on it."

"I'll drink to that," said Archer.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Enme spoke.

"Tell me about my sister," said Enme.

"Whether I can do that or not depends on what you want to know."

"She struck me as honorable. Is she?"

"As honorable a person as I've ever known," said Archer.

"Is she happy?"

Archer furrowed his brow.

"You do know about Vulcans don't you?"

"Vulcans are Romulans. Romulans are Vulcans. She's capable of being happy. Is she?"

"I think so. A terrible thing happened to her less than a year ago — she and Commander Tucker lost a child. I don't think anyone human, Vulcan…or Romulan could ever come through something like that unscathed. But she seems happy."

Enme helped himself to a generous second glass of bourbon and poured the captain one as well.

"I read about that. You humans are sick."

"Not all of us," said Archer, "but Terra Prime represented the worst of us."

"To be fair," said Enme as he gulped down his whole glass, "I'd already be dead if our situation was reversed. We wouldn't bother holding a high ranking enemy officer on the eve of a battle. Not even for information."

"As far as I'm concerned it's bad luck all around that you're here," said Archer, "I owe you thanks for saving my crew members. Even though we can't release you, I won't forget that I owe you a debt of honor."

Enme looked into Archer's eyes, and Archer thought just maybe the young man believed him.

* * *

Trip and T'Pol made their way to the captain's mess that evening. The crew had had a busy day using the phase canons to blast away most of the minefield. It had been productive, and Trip and Malcolm's teams were busy restoring the drained power to their weapons as quickly as possible. The captain wanted everything to be at maximum efficiency. So, Trip was irritated at having to socialize with a Romulan instead of help his crew with their work.

On the other hand, he was curious as hell to get a look at his wife's brother.

Three heavily armed guards let them into the captain's mess.

They arrived to find Hoshi already there, seated next to the prisoner. They were chatting in Romulan. Trip blinked for a moment. The man looked like a Vulcan. Specifically, he looked like T'Pol, but he looked up smiled at them. It was disconcerting.

"Good to see you again, sister," said Enme, following Archer's lead and standing up to greet the new arrivals.

"Hello, brother," said T'Pol in Vulcan monotone. "This is my husband, Commander Charles Tucker the Third," she continued formally.

"It is a pleasure," said Enme.

"Likewise," replied Trip.

"I had the chef prepare steak, since I heard you were an omnivore," said the captain, as they all sat down around the table. The steward came in and poured them all glasses, making sure to pour smaller portions for Enme and T'Pol since he assumed they were both Vulcans. The captain, continuing the tradition his started with his guest, toasted to all of their continued safety in the coming days.

"A fascinating but lightweight beverage. We do have a kind of port," Enme said, "but nothing like this. Tell me, T'Pol, do all Vulcans drink? I heard it was taboo in your culture."

T'Pol sipped her wine.

"It is frowned upon, but those of us living among off worlders are free to adapt," she said smoothly.

"I suppose we can't ask you much about your culture given the circumstances," said Hoshi, "but thank you for letting me have a look at the literary database."

Enme turned to her and smiled, warmly with no hint of cynicism.

"I thought it would improve your diction and possibly even your accent," said Enme, "and I'm sure that you will be very useful once this part of space has been annexed."

Trip glanced over at Archer, and they both knew better than to take the bait.

"I really enjoyed the ancient poems," said Hoshi, "but I fear any modern Romulans might find my accent weirdly influenced by them. "

She still spoke in Romulan.

"It's actually very pretty," said Enme as he locked eyes with her, "I think most Romulans would find it very charming."

Even through the universal translator, Trip picked up the flirtation in the Romulan's voice. It irritated him. Hoshi was kind of like a kid sister to him, especially since his own sister had died, and he didn't want any sister of his making eyes at a Romulan.

_Maybe it's a good thing that T'Pol is related to this guy_, he thought.

Hoshi apparently noticed the flirtation too. She was smiling at their guest in a way Trip hadn't ever seen her smile.

T'Pol remained quiet, seemingly unaffected by the unusual company. Trip didn't even sense anything strange from her, but somewhere between dinner and dessert, she brushed his hand under the table with her own.

Despite himself, Trip was was impressed with the Romulan, who was probably under tremendous stress and was managing not to show it - without the benefit of Vulcan-style emotional suppression. The guy made conversation, answering questions he felt he could and easily deflecting the ones he thought he couldn't answer. Several more times, their guest tried to rattle his hosts but, confident they had the upper hand, not one of the Starfleet officers responded.

* * *

Malcolm paced outside the captain's mess. He understood why he wasn't invited, but on the other hand his curiosity was nearly overwhelming They were dining with a Romulan - the mysterious, unknown race that was about to attempt an invasion. And he was standing outside in the hall like he was a common guard.

He sighed. He wanted to be in their sitting next to Hoshi, who he had worked out would be the dinner partner of the mysterious — and tall — Romulan. The one she said she owed her life to.

Malcolm just didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.


	14. Chapter 14

The entire ship shook under the assault of a Romulan drone ship. Travis was thrown from his chair and dislocated his shoulder, but he pressed on through the pain, helping the ship navigate to avoid further pounding from the enemy. Malcolm kept calibrating the weapons through each blast the ship took, adjusting to make each of their counter assaults against the drone more accurate. Hoshi monitored every report from the join chiefs, making sure they were aware of the status of all the other ships. Trip was in engineering, supervising any repairs that could be made during the battle. T'Pol sat at her station, monitoring all the data from the ship's systems.

Archer sat in the big chair, eyes on the viewscreen, barking orders.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of pounding, T'Pol spoke. "The shielding on the drone ship is no longer functioning," she said.

"Target the warp core," said Archer, "and fire when ready."

Malcolm complied without a word. The drone exploded.

"Good work, Mr. Reed," said Archer grimly.

"Sir," said Hoshi, "we've been ordered to hang back and make any repairs. A second wave of drones in on its way. We'll be joining the main defense line."

"Travis, take us back behind the planet, 1/3 impulse," said Archer, "Commander T'Pol, get down to Engineering and get a full report from Commander Tucker."

* * *

T'Pol headed down through the dark corridors, the sound of full tactical alert ringing in her sensitive ears. The crew members she saw appeared deadly serious, running to their stations with great purpose.

She reached engineering and was relieved to see what appeared to be only minor damage. Trip was examining a member of his team's wrist, which had a nasty plasma burn.

"Get to sickbay immediately," he ordered. The ensign dashed off, and Trip looked up and saw T'Pol standing there. For a split second, she felt his relief at seeing her uninjured. Then, he was all business.

"Report, Commander," she said.

"All major systems are functioning. Minor damage to some of the conduits. Deck 4, Section 8 has a section of the hull that appears ready to buckle. It's been evacuated and sealed off."

T'Pol nodded. The ship had come through better than she had expected. Of course, they were not at the center of the battle and had Earth's most experienced combat crew.

"The drone that attacked us has been destroyed," said T'Pol, "However, there is another wave of drones set to arrive within three hours."

"That's enough time to repair everything," said Trip.

"Good," she said, "Carry on, Commander."

* * *

Two days later, _Enterprise_ still orbited the mining colony, which had been fully taken over by the Alliance. Assault teams, including one of MACOs from _Enterprise_, were on the surfacing — securing every location. Two waves of warbirds and drone ships had been fought off but at a price. Two Vulcan cruisers, one Andorian ship and several small Tellarite vessels had been destroyed. One small earth battle cruiser had also been destroyed, though about half the crew had made it to the escape pods. _Enterprise_ had picked up those humans and most of them were still aboard.

Trip, T'Pol and Archer dined that night in his mess.

"I think even the joint chiefs of the Alliance were surprised at how well we did," said Archer, "but then again the Romulans were the ones caught off guard this time."

Archer turned to T'Pol. The Vulcan ship that had been assigned to take Enme to Vulcan had been destroyed. Another one would be sent, but it was likely weeks away.

"Malcolm wants to question your brother, see if he can glean any intelligence from him now that it looks like he'll be with us for awhile."

T'Pol sipped on her water, her face a mask. Trip didn't sense any conflicted feelings in her. He sensed no feelings at all. He knew his wife still carried guilt from her emotional collapse during the battle at Azati Prime, so during times like this, she put her Vulcan nature into overdrive.

"It would probably do no harm to attempt an interrogation," said T'Pol, "but I would caution Mr. Reed at having any expectations. Vulcans are taught to take their own lives before giving key information to the enemy. It would be my guess that Romulans have a similar policy."

Trip looked at her, and he realized he didn't want to know what precisely she had been taught to do. The thought made him a little sick to his stomach.

"Well," said Archer, "we've got the time to research it for the next few days at least. We're stationed here for the time being. The joint chiefs are going to try and make the best of our defensive position, for now, but holding this planet is key. The Alliance is also going to take possession of Hirku station."

"Hasn't that place been neutral for years?" asked Trip.

Archer shrugged.

"It seems to the joint chiefs that they've now got a choice to ally with us or the Romulans. We think its in their best interest to ally with us. A couple of Tellarite legions are going to board the station and make that clear to the them. Javon is currently handling negotiations to make the occupation goes smoothly."

Trip shook his head. Occupation. He never thought he'd be on a side that would occupy anything, but then again The Romulans sounded like they would be way worse occupiers than the Alliance would be. Hopefully, the residents of the station would agree.

* * *

Far away in Romulan space, The ProConsul looked down at his screen and saw good news and bad news. There was an intelligence report that indicated no Starfleet officers had died in the explosion at the mines prior to the battle. If it was accurate, that meant his daughter still lived. The other piece of news wasn't so good. The Empire had suffered a defeat when trying to retake the mining colony from this new Alliance.

The ProConsul shook his head. The general who had ordered the attack would need to be dealt with. His impatience and overconfidence had led to this. If only his son Enme had been leading the charge…

The ProConsul swallowed his grief. Enme was gone, and there was no bringing him back. He needed to focus on the living members of the family, including the miserable little bastard that he now needed.

"Ston," he shouted.

Ston appeared in his dress clothes, the dapper look of them ruined by the green bruises around both eyes and his swollen lip. The boy had said nothing as the Remans had beaten him under his father's orders. He knew better.

"It's time to meet your bride. Let's hope she's not disgusted at the sight of you the way I am," said The ProConsul, "Come with me."

Ston followed his father into the next room.

* * *

"You wanted to see me Lieutenant Commander Reed?" asked Hoshi, who had been officially summoned to the armory.

"Yes, Lieutenant Sato," said Malcolm formally, "I will be interrogating the Romulan prisoner. I believe it would be helpful for you to be present, as a speaker of Romulan. The UT shouldn't be trusted under such circumstances. However, the interrogation won't be a pleasant process. You know we don't torture prisoners, but I have permission to drug him and apply considerable emotional pressure. Are you comfortable with that?"

Hoshi swallowed. This was a man who had saved her life, and she knew exactly what he would be feeling. She had experienced it herself. On the other hand, they were at war, and there had already been hundreds of Alliance casualties.

Malcolm seemed to recognize the direction of her thoughts.

"We're not the Xindi," said Malcolm, "We won't harm him the way your were harmed. As I said, it won't be a pleasant process, but we _don't_ torture. I promise."

At that moment, Hoshi realized that he was speaking as her boyfriend as much as a ranking officer. Strangely, she found herself immensely grateful for their personal relationship. She trusted him.

"I'll be there, sir," she said.

"Good," he said, "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Hoshi and Malcolm locked eyes, and she turned and left the armory.

* * *

That night, Trip and T'Pol were seated on the floor of their quarters, meditating. Trip wasn't yet as advanced as she was, but she continued to be impressed by his progress. His concentration level was higher than she thought could be achieved by most humans, especially one as passionate as her husband.

_It's all you, sweetie._

_What is?_

_The control. I borrow it from you._

_Don't underestimate yourself._

They were interrupted by a ring on the comm.

"Someone wants to talk to one of us through subspace," said Trip, as he pulled himself up off the floor and dashed over to the monitor on the desk. He sat down.

"Perhaps it is Soval," said T'Pol.

"Nope," said Trip, "It's from Mississippi, North America. It's either my Mom or Dad, I bet."

He tapped the controls a few times, and his father's face appeared on the screen.

"Trip," said Charlie Tucker, "How are you? We heard there was quite a skirmish a few days ago."

Trip cricked his neck.

"It was more than that, Dad," said Trip, "It was a full scale battle. Has United Earth started calling it a war yet? It's tough to get news way out here."

T'Pol stood up but kept herself a safe distance, so the imager on the monitor would not show her presence.

"Both houses of the General Assembly are having an emergency session today. They're expected to declare war."

Trip inhaled. The General Assembly had never even formally declared war on the Xindi. This was the first time in United Earth's history that this had happened.

"How's the mood?"

"After all the attacks on ships and colonies in the last few months, people are almost grateful it's finally started. The waiting was worse somehow, especially since during the Xindi situation all we could do was wait. It feels like now we've got allies and we're ready to defend ourselves. Don't get me wrong, people are scared. . .but they support the Alliance."

Trip felt relief surge through his body. Perhaps the days of Terra Prime-style xenophobia were behind them, now that everyone in the Alpha Quadrant had a common enemy.

"How's the wife?" asked Charlie.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" replied Trip, who stood up and beckoned T'Pol to be seated.

She calmly did as he asked. She stared the the grey-haired man on the monitor, who resembled Trip.

"Hello, Mr. Tucker," she said, "It is a pleasure to finally speak with you."

Charlie Tucker's eyes widened. "It's a pleasure to talk to you T'Pol. I'm sorry we haven't been able to meet you in person."

She nodded.

"No slight was ever meant against you or your wife, but it is unacceptable," she said, "We shall endeavor to correct the insult as soon as we return to Earth."

"That's okay, sweetie," said Charlie, surprising himself, "We just want to meet the lady that stole our son's heart and welcome her to the family. Now that I see how pretty you are, I can't say I blame Trip."

T'Pol blinked at the flattery, and she clearly didn't quite know what to make of it. For his part, Trip had been certain his parents wouldn't approve of her.

"Elaine, honey," shouted Charlie Tucker to someone else who was in the room, "Come meet your daughter-in-law over this subspace connection. It was nice to meet you, T'Pol."

"Likewise, Mr. Tucker."

Elaine Tucker then appeared on the screen.

"Hello, Mrs. Tucker," said T'Pol.

"Hello, T'Pol," she drawled, "It's…it's nice to finally get to talk to you. How's Trip?"

T'Pol looked over at her husband, as though she was confused by the question.

"He has come through the recent battle physically unscathed. He performed his duties well."

Trip watched her, almost amused. After all this time, she still didn't quite get humans or what they really meant when they asked questions.

"Although he is not happy at the recent turn of events, he is handling the situation well."

_Or maybe she is starting to get it_, he thought.

"Well, that's good to hear my dear. Would you mind if I spoke with him?"

"Not at all. It was agreeable to speak with you, Mrs. Tucker."

"You too, my dear." said Elaine tentatively, "Take good care of him, all right?'

T'Pol nodded before allowing Trip to take her place in front of the monitor.

"Hi Mom," said Trip.

T'Pol disappeared into the next room while Trip chatted with his mother.

* * *

Bala and Ston had made their way to the kitchen of his father's estate. Normally, servants brought them their food, but Bala retrieved a iced gel pack from the freezer and placed it on Ston's lips. She was tiny, even for a Romulan, only standing to Ston's shoulder. She had delicate hands, with silver-painted nails and long jet black hair that drifted down her shoulders.

"I can't believe that they did not allow you to ice your wound," she said.

"The point was for me to suffer," said Ston.

"Don't talk," whispered Bala, "Let me care for you."

Ston smiled at the girl. "The gods were smiling on me when they killed my brother."

Bala herself smiled at that. Everything she had learned about Enme had terrified her. He seemed like he would not be willing to listen to her or do anything she said. No doubt, he would have deposited her in a house somewhere and made her raise babies. But Ston, he was an entirely different matter.

She had heard what he had done, all in the name of a sister that he had never met. That was loyalty. That was love. Now, she only needed to get him to love her the same way, and he would do anything for her.

She led him back up the stairs.

"Tell me about your sister," she asked, with as much innocence as she could effect in her voice.

Ston told the whole long story, in great detail. Bala listened, knowing that she would definitely be of use to Ston. He was incredibly stupid, but he was persistent, loyal and willing to do anything for his loved ones. That made him nearly perfect in her eyes. Now, she just had to win his heart.

"I know you're sister can be won to our side," said Bala, "Once we win this war, we'll bring her here, and I know she'll never want to leave you again. How could she?"

Ston's eye's widened, and he seemed very, very pleased.

* * *

That night, as Trip and T'Pol snuggled in bed, he spoke. Both were grateful that the battle was over and all was again quiet.

"I think they are warming to the idea of you," said Trip, "We'll definitely have to go and see them if we get back to Earth anytime soon."

T'Pol lifted her head up.

"Would they change their position regarding our marriage so suddenly?"

Trip brushed her face with his palm.

"Humans aren't as stubborn as Vulcans, for the most part," he said, "and if they want to see their son or any future grandchildren, they are going to have to accept you. They know it."

T'Pol relaxed back down next to him, and he put his arms around her.

"You miss not having a child," said T'Pol.

"I miss baby Elizabeth," he said, "but I know now is not the time. But promise me when this war is over, you'll consider us having another baby?"

She entwined her fingers into his.

"I have considered it. When the war is over, I promise we shall attempt to have another child."

"Then we have something to look forward to," said Trip.

* * *

There was chime at Malcolm's door.

"Come in," he said.

Hoshi strode through the door.

"I missed you at dinner tonight," she said.

"I had chef bring food to the armory," he said, "I've been busy."

Hoshi approached him.

"It must be hard, having two jobs. Armory officer and Section 31 Operative."

Malcolm stood up, but he suppressed the denial on his lips. She was too smart for that, and he owed her the truth.

"Are you sure you're okay, being part of the interrogation tomorrow?"

Hoshi looked away.

"It's complicated. He saved my life, and I like him. And he was very good to us when didn't have to be…and now we're going to subject him to…"

Her voice shook.

Malcolm took her into his arms.

"It won't be like what happened to you," he reiterated, "but war is an unfair and ugly business. We're doing this to save lives, remember. End this war quickly. That will be better for everyone, including him. Once the war is over, he can go home. . .now, are you sure you want to do this?"

Hoshi stepped back from him.

"Yes," she said forcefully, "It's my job, and I can do it."

Malcolm placed his hands on her small shoulders.

"I know you can," he said, "Now, can we talk about something else?"

Hoshi felt very drawn to Malcolm, despite the reservations she had. He wasn't just the funny, kind man she had hooked up with on the station. He was an agent of Section 31, and it was his job to help end this war quickly. Something about that made her heart thump faster.

"Maybe we should just forgo the talking," she suggested.


	15. Chapter 15

In answer to her playful suggestion, Malcolm strode across the room, and he pulled her into a hard, passionate kiss. He forced her mouth open with his tongue, and she responded with a small moan. She placed her hands on his shoulder to keep from swooning, and then let herself be completely overtaken. This wasn't friendship she was feeling from him, not this time.

His hands found the zipper of her jumpsuit, and he quickly pulled it down. He pushed the familiar garment off her shoulders, and then wrapped his hands around her small back — pulling her in closer to him.

"Malcolm…" she whispered, barely able to breathe.

"Quiet, love," he ordered.

_Love_, she thought. He called her _love_. That frightened her. In the abstract, the notion had always frightened her. Now, with the world falling apart around them, it was terrifying. And yet, she didn't want to run…not this time.

Malcolm pulled her grey tank over over head and pushed her on to his bunk, breaking their contact for a moment. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he slipped out of his own jumpsuit and boots so he was only in his Starfleet blues. Then, he pulled off her boots and the rest of her jumpsuit before joining her on the small bunk. He crawled on top of her, his lips finding her neck and nuzzling her. Hoshi wanted to speak, but she held back. He was clearly enjoying the silence.

His right hand found its way to the waistband of her grey shorts and gently pushed its way under the fabric. His finger brushed between her legs, before moving down and slipping inside her. Hoshi bit her lip and closed her eyes. Without removing his fingers, which were deftly stroking her, Malcolm crawled downward, planting kisses along the way. He then pushed down her shorts down her bent legs and off before he crawled up pressed his tongue right at the center of her. His fingers and tongue worked in concert with each other until he felt her muscles spasm, and she gave a soft scream.

He gently removed his fingers and licked them, watching her recover for a bit before climbing up on top of her. He gave her a deep, open-mouthed kiss, making sure she could taste herself on his lips. He pressed his erection, which was still confined in his briefs, against her taut stomach. She helped him pull his his tank over his head, brushing her hands over the bare skin of his chest.

He kissed her again, and she pushed his shorts down, finally freeing himself from his constricting clothing. She wiggled upwards and spread her legs, helping him slip inside her.

He locked his eyes with hers, and she felt the connection that happened that first, platonic night on the station. He started thrusting, then reached down to see if he could make her come again. His fingers moved with concentrated determination, until they found success and she became limp and quivering. He then pushed on until he joined her.

A few minutes later, she looked up and began to speak again but she stopped. Instead, she settled into his arms and soon fell quickly asleep.

* * *

Enme was bored out of his mind. He paced the small cabin where he was confined, and occasionally peered out the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of anything interesting.

Although he had been relatively well treated, he had decided that hearing a battle rage all around him and not being able to participate did count as a kind of torture. He also found himself rather conflicted. He was happy to be alive, that was certain. Yet, he was both disappointed and concerned that his people had lost the battle for the mining colony. Such losses were rare. It occurred to him that his people may have underestimated the Alliance that they were now facing.

_If we, as a people have a flaw_, he thought, _it is overconfidence_.

The chime rang.

"You may enter," he shouted.

His sister, dressed in her Starfleet uniform, walked in the door followed by a steward.

"If you don't mind," she said, "I would like to join you for breakfast."

"By all means," said Enme politely gesturing to the small table in the corner, "I could use the company."

The steward placed a bowl of Plomeek soup at T'Pol's place and a plate of pancakes at Enme's. He also served them each a cup of Vulcan tea, and glasses of orange juice. Enme had come to enjoy the human fruit juice and had requested it every morning. After the steward had left, the siblings sat down at the cramped table.

"Are you being treated well?" said T'Pol.

Enme sipped his orange juice.

"Very," he said, "Apart from the small confines."

"This cabin is larger than the brig," said T'Pol.

"I don't doubt it," said Enme, "and I'l wager it is more comfortable, too. I do love this orange juice."

"My husband grew up in an Earth region famous for its oranges," said T'Pol, "Even on Earth, they only grow in certain climates and are considered a great delicacy."

"I would love to try the fruit itself," said Enme, "Could you arrange that?"

"Commander Tucker has some in stasis. I will ask him to gift you with one," said T'Pol.

"Thank him for me, assuming he agrees."

T'Pol nodded, and she sipped her tea.

"Tell me," he said, "How did you end up married to a human? My understanding is that Vulcans rarely couple with off worlders."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow at the very personal question.

"You can tell me. We are family, after all."

"It is simple," she said, "We served together on this ship, and we found each other's company agreeable."

"But according to your dossier, you were married to a Vulcan for a time."

T'Pol didn't react to the fact that he knew such personal information about her, she simply took a sip of her soup.

"That was in name only," she said, "and I had already bonded with Commander Tucker so the marriage was invalid from the beginning."

"How romantic," said Enme.

"It didn't seem so at the time," responded T'Pol.

"Our father wishes me to marry a Romulan girl from another patrician family in order to create a political alliance. She's practically a child."

"Have you met her?" said T'Pol, sympathetically.

"No," said Enme.

"Perhaps you will find her agreeable."

Enme chewed on a bit of blueberry pancake.

"Not likely," said Enme, "I tend to enjoy women…not girls."

"She'll eventually become a woman," said T'Pol.

"That's a good way of looking at it, sister," said Enme, "Of course, since I'm now a prisoner, I don't have to worry about it until this war between our people ends. Tell me, will I be kept on this ship for the duration?"

T'Pol shook her head.

"No," she said, "You will be likely taken to Vulcan and held there. They will treat you fairly."

"Maybe it will give me a chance to discover my people's roots before I am rescued," said Enme.

"You would do well to embrace logic," said T'Pol.

Enme sighed. The logical thing was to accept his situation, but Romulans were not logical.

"Congratulations on your victory, by the way," said Enme, "I have been pleasantly surprised to find myself alive these last few days."

T'Pol nodded.

"We fully expect to survive all the coming battles," she said, "In fact, the Alliance will no doubt approach you with idea of helping us open negotiations with your people. It will serve neither side to have a long, drawn-out conflict in which no territory is gained."

"Don't underestimate us, sister," Enme said.

"Your people clearly made that mistake regarding our side a few days ago," she said, "So it's good advice all around."

"On that we can agree," said Enme, "Now let's change the subject to something more pleasant. I've had blueberries and strawberries. I wish to try oranges. Are there any other human delicacies you can recommend?"

* * *

Archer sat back and looked at Malcolm.

"I'm not comfortable keeping this from her," said the captain.

"This interrogation will happen on a need to know basis. You need to know. I need to know. Phlox needs to know. Two of my security officers need to know and Hoshi needs to know. That's already too many people. Besides, he's T'Pol's brother. Vulcan or not, she's going to have sympathy for him. Both Vulcans and Romulans value blood connections."

Archer shook his head.

"She might be able to help," he said, "and I don't want her to think we don't trust her."

"It's your call, sir," said Malcolm.

"What about Hoshi?" said Archer, "She seemed to like the guy at dinner. Is she going to be okay with this?"

Malcolm showed no sign of personal interest when Hoshi's name came up. In this, he would have done any Vulcan proud.

"I've spoken with her, twice, and she is ready to do her job."

Archer nodded.

"When are you going to proceed?"

"1300 hours," said Malcolm, "The armory will be sealed off at that time."

"Keep me posted," said Archer, "and I want to see your report as soon as it is complete."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

T'Pol arrived in Archer's ready room a half hour later, and Captain and First Officer regarded each other like the professionals they were. He told her what he felt was her right to know, and she reacted to the knowledge that they would be interrogating her brother like a Vulcan. She showed no reaction.

"I know this can't be easy," said Archer.

"It's neither easy or hard," responded T'Pol, "It is necessary. I am sure Mr. Reed will behave according to Starfleet protocols."

Archer bit his lip, remembering his own bending and breaking of Starfleet protocols in The Expanse. He hoped that Malcolm wouldn't be pushed so far, although the stakes seemed just as high.

"I'm sure he will," said Archer, hoping she didn't hear the doubt in his voice. "Also, tell Commander Tucker about this — situation. He's the only senior officer not yet informed, and I want him kept in the loop as well."

"Yes, sir," said T'Pol, who was puzzled by this order. She thought perhaps that Archer simply didn't want to put her in the position of keeping a secret from Trip. Or perhaps he knew that they didn't keep secrets. Or maybe he just hoped Trip would be able to help her deal with the situation. In any case, she was grateful.

"Dismissed," said Archer.

* * *

T'Pol got up and wordlessly returned to her post. Before she knew what was happening, her mind wandered to her time being held by the Suliban and the torturous drugs that had coursed through her system. She hadn't given them any information, but that was primarily due to the fact that she had none to give. She hoped Section 31 had more humane methods, although even if they did, she had great sympathy for her brother.

* * *

At noon, T'Pol met Trip in the mess hall for lunch. They dined in a quiet corner, where no one could hear their conversation.

"Why wasn't I told about this before?"

"At first, it was a need to know operation. However, Captain Archer believes all senior officers need to know," she replied.

Trip didn't respond, just kept eating.

"How'd it go at breakfast?" he asked a few minutes later. He stared down at his food, knowing full well that he wouldn't find the truth in her face. He needed to access her mind while she spoke to find what was going on inside her head. He had started to learn to do that without even touching her.

"He was in an agreeable mood," she said, "but I do believe that he would escape if he could. However, I don't believe he would destroy the ship with himself on it. He seems to value his own life too much."

"We'll see if that changes," said Trip, "I'm sure Malcolm will put extra people on security after today."

Trip sensed concern for her brother behind the Vulcan mask. It was deep in her mind, but it was there. A combination of her Vulcan sense of honor and a budding familial affection for the Romulan was buried under all that control. Trip had not sensed any affection for her father or the other brother, so this was a new development.

As his wife changed the subject to the status of the warp drive, he decided to ask the the captain to get the Romulan transferred off the ship as soon as possible.

* * *

Hoshi arrived at the armory fifteen minutes before the procedure was to begin. She saw a bio bed had been placed there, and Phlox was monitoring some equipment. Malcolm didn't look at her as she walked into the room.

"The two guards have gone to get our subject," said Malcolm, without meeting her eyes.

"Hello, Phlox," said Hoshi.

The doctor smiled at her, reassuringly. Although Phlox would not be performing the procedure and was only there if something went wrong, she knew he had the strictest of medical ethics. He wouldn't be here if it was going to be like it was with the Xindi. She believed that.

She looked down at the hyposprays that were lined along a tray next to the biobed. They were a series of drugs designed to heighten serotonin levels and intoxicate the patient. The idea was that he would simply answer any questions asked, and hopefully the experience would be pleasant for him. But the drugs were powerful, and Vulcans were very adept at resisting them. Malcolm was operating on the assumption that a Romulan would also be resistant.

Hoshi looked up when she heard the door open. Enme stood there between the two guards. He saw the set up, and since he was no fool recognized what was about to happen.

He made a move against one of the guards and quickly subdued him, but the other already had reached for his phase pistol and soon stunned the prisoner. They carried him to the biobed and strapped him down. Malcolm immediately picked up a stimulant hypospray and revived him.

Enme's eyes fluttered open.

"I knew your politeness was just a facade," he said to Malcolm, and then he turned to Hoshi and looked her straight in the eye, "but you I am disappointed in, my dear."

Hoshi felt herself choking up. She reminded herself that while what they were doing was a violation, the procedure was designed to be painless. She sucked up her reservations and guilt, and she sat down at the recording station.

Malcolm administered the first round of the drugs.

* * *

Late that night, T'Pol, wearing civilian clothes rather than her jumpsuit, strode forcefully through the halls clutching a small bag in her hands. She found her way to her brother's room, and she asked the guards to open the door.

"We don't know if he's awake, yet, Commander," said one of the guards.

"I shall see for myself," she stated.

She walked into the dimly lit cabin, and saw her brother sprawled on the bunk, most of the green gone from his complexion. He appeared to be sleeping. So, she carefully approached the table and removed an orange from her bag. She placed it there, but it rolled toward the edge. So, she returned it to the bag, and she placed the bag on the table with the orange inside.

"How are you, sister?"

The voice was a whisper.

"I am well. May I ask how you are?"

"Groggy," he said, "and I don't remember anything after the first hypospray. I'm curious to find out if I was helpful to your cause or managed to resist. Do you happen to know?"

T'Pol turned around, the bag in her hand.

"Mr. Reed has not yet completed his report," she replied.

"Would you do me the favor of telling me what's in it?" he asked, "I want to know if I should throw myself out the airlock."

"That would be a painful way to accomplish one's own death," she stated, "and besides, I will not be able to inform you of the contents of the report."

Enme sat up.

"It's all a blank…you know, I wasn't prepared for this. Normally, we Romulans don't bother interrogating prisoners."

"That seems foolish," said T'Pol, "and illogical."

Enme shrugged.

"Not if your strategy is outgun everyone and pound them into bloody oblivion until they surrender…that's not a state secret by the way. And in any case, the airlock will be far more pleasant than whatever awaits me if I gave any key information to your people."

T'Pol stepped forward, taking the orange out of the bag.

Enme recognized it immediately. "Thank you, and thank your husband for me," he said, taking the fruit.

"I will do that," she said, "He was happy to oblige my request. You don't consume the outer peel, only the wedges inside."

Enme broke open the peel and inhaled the fresh citrus scent.

"It's acidic, like the juice," he said.

"Yes," she replied, "if there's nothing else…"

Enme didn't say anything for a moment. He just carefully ate one of the wedges, savoring each bit.

"Would you stay a bit longer and keep me company?" he said, "I'll share with you."

He held out the fruit toward her. She thought of telling him that Vulcans didn't eat food with their hands, but instead she took a wedge and sat down at the table.

"Would you like me to tell you what our father was like, when he wasn't pretending to be a Vulcan?"

T'Pol nodded, and her brother smiled at her.

"Well, as you can imagine…he was quite a powerful figure. . .once when I was about eleven Romulan years old. . .just a little thing, he showed up at my school for a conference. . well, apparently he didn't like what the teacher said because the next day . ..the poor man was transferred to an outer colony….can you imagine? That's when I figured out how different our family was…"

T'Pol sat back and listened for a long while. Eventually, Enme drifted back to sleep.

* * *

T'Pol returned to her quarters a few minutes later, knowing Trip waited for her.

"You were gone way too long," he said.

He clearly had been pacing their quarters the entire time. He wore the t-shirt and boxers that he usually slept in, but he hadn't honored her request to go to sleep without her.

"He wished to have company," said T'Pol, "I provided it until he fell asleep again."

If Trip had been worried earlier, he was more worried now. She sensed it.

"That was kind of you," he said, beckoning her toward the bedroom.

He laid down on the bed, and she changed into her silk pajamas. She crawled up next to him and put her head on his chest. He traced the outline of her ear with his fingers.

"He believes that whatever he revealed, he will be killed if he returns to the Empire."

Trip continued to stroke her ears, but he applied more pressure.

"It's because of things like that that we have to fight this war so hard," said Trip, "The Romulans are barbarians, no matter how polite they are or how good their ale is. All of us in this alliance are better than they are. We would never kill one of our people for talking the way he did…probably did. We would have compassion. Think about what happened to Hoshi. Did anyone blame her? Everyone admired her for resisting as hard as she did."

T'Pol nodded. Everything Trip said was true. He was a wise man, and he had made her feel better. She reached up and kissed him on the mouth, sweetly at first and then more aggressively.

"Are you too tired to engage in sexual relations, husband?" she inquired.

He grinned.

"I'm never too tired for that," he said, his hands migrating down to her rear end.

"I'm glad of it," she said, as her hands migrated to the waistband of his shorts and then lower.

No, he didn't seem too tired at all.

* * *

Hoshi was alone in her quarters, curled in her bunk and staring out at the stars. She had not even asked to see Malcolm, whom she knew was working on the report. Everything had gone perfectly. Romulans, it seemed, lacked the mental discipline of their Vulcan cousins. Enme had appeared un-traumatized by the procedure and had answered every one of Malcolm's questions in vivid detail.

As much as she was glad that he hadn't been physically harmed, Hoshi knew the mental damage they had done to him. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't regret giving the Xindi reptilians the code information, despite the fact that they had stopped the weapon in time. She still regretted that she hadn't been able to take her own life that day, and on her worst days, she considered doing just that to make up for what she had done.

So, she understood that, torture or not, she had destroyed a person that day — a person who had saved her life. As the tears came, she hoped that it was worth it.


	16. Chapter 16

A week later, _Enterprise's_ command crew met on the bridge. It had been relatively quiet around the mining colony, though a small battle between three Andorian ships and two Romulan drones had been fought in the last week. Only one Andorian ship had escaped.

"We've been recalled to Earth," said Archer to his senior staff, "We'll be heading home for a few weeks after _Columbia_ arrives to relieve us. We'll debrief them, and then we're off."

Trip leaned forward.

"Why are we being taken out of the action?" he asked.

"It's not like that," replied Archer, "They want to refit and upgrade our weapons at Jupiter station, and they've got plans for this ship that don't include guarding a colony. You'll all be informed of the details when we get to Starfleet command."

"What about our prisoner?" asked Malcolm, "When are we going hand him over to the Vulcans?"

"We'll make the transfer when we get to Earth," replied Archer.

Trip glanced very quickly at T'Pol, but her face showed no reaction, as usual. They could have been talking about an engine part.

"_Columbia_ will be here in two days," said Archer, "Everyone should have reports on surface operations ready. The MACOs already stationed on the colony will remain. Dismissed everyone."

With that, the officers all headed toward their stations, all business.

* * *

Later than night, T'Pol and Enme played chess in his cabin.

"I believe I'll checkmate you in five moves, brother," she said.

Enme sighed. He examined the board and saw that she was correct. He also saw his mistake had been made four moves earlier. He made a mental note and resolved to never make that particular mistake again.

"I knew there was a reason you suggested this human game. Logic is a key component."

"As is military-style strategy, which I assumed would give you an equal advantage. No doubt my easy victory came from experience, rather than superior natural ability. My guess is after a few more games, we shall be equally matched."

Enme knocked over his king in supplication.

"You flatter me," he said.

"Vulcans don't flatter. We are merely honest," she replied as she set up the pieces again and placed the game on the shelf.

"T'Pol," said Enme, "May I ask you favor?"

She sat back down.

"You know that depends on the favor."

"I need you to help me take my own life. Take me to the airlock, bring me poison…shoot me yourself."

T'Pol did not react, and he was not surprised. He had been hinting around about his desire for death for days, ever since he had realized that he hadn't been able to resist his interrogation. T'Pol had refused to answer his queries on the subject one way or another, but her lack of reassurance, and the fact that Malcolm had not tried to question him again pointed him toward the truth.

"You know I can't do that," she said, "and if you persist in bringing up the subject, we'll have to remove the sheets and blankets from your bed and any other implements you might use to accomplish such a goal."

Enme kicked the table in frustration.

"Is that out of concern for me or because I'm too valuable to your alliance?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

"Both."

"You must understand that if I return to my people, I'm a dead man. Among your people — human or Vulcan — I'm a prisoner. What kind of future do I have?"

He had spoken with a most nonchalant tone. After all, death was an every day companion to a soldier like Enme.

"You have indicated that you are grateful to be alive as often as you have expressed a desire for death. Perhaps you could find a home for yourself on one of the many multi-species stations or colonies in this region of space. Hirku station seemed like an idea place for a person in your situation to settle. Perhaps you would even find it — liberating."

Enme sat back.

"Do you really think I would ever be released?"

"Once the war is over," she said, "It is very likely."

Enme stayed quiet for awhile. Such mercy for one's enemy was outside his frame of reference.

"Do you know if they plan on questioning me again?" he asked.

T'Pol shook her head, and she stood up to leave. "Do you have any special requests for the evening meal?"

Enme smiled.

"Whatever your magnificent chef has prepared will be just fine. But if Captain Archer is willing to share some of his bourbon, I wouldn't object."

"I'll ask him," said T'Pol as she exited.

* * *

Starfleet's two senior NX class captains were out of uniform. In fact, they were both completely naked in the captain's quarters of the NX-02. Archer had Erika held up against the bulkhead, and he was thrusting inside her at just the right angle to drive her crazy. She had her legs wrapped around his hips and was bracing her feet on the back of his legs.

"Oh my god, Jon," she whispered, "Do not stop now…"

He said nothing, just continued at his work until she couldn't say anything and just melted in his arms. A minute or so later, he collapsed against her, while using his weight to keep her propped up. She put her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply.

Finally, he put her on her feet and she led him to the bed, where they sprawled down together.

"That was the best tactical briefing I've ever had," she laughed.

"I wonder if your first officer is wondering where you are," breathed Archer.

"Mine isn't as nosy as yours," laughed Erika, "Although _I_ _wonder_ if we've broken any regulations."

Jon rolled through the various regs on fraternization in his head. Then, he rolled through the rules on breaks while on duty.

"Nope," he said, "You're just not allowed to screw your subordinate. And captains are allowed to take breaks during the day, as needed."

Erika rested her head on one elbow and massaged one of Jon's calves with her small foot.

"Speaking of which," she said, "what's it been like having your two senior officers married?"

"A hell of a lot easier than it was when they were dating," replied Jon, "It was the on again off again thing that was the hassle."

Erika grinned.

"I remember," she replied, "I knew it was too good to be true to get Tucker aboard _Columbia_."

Jon rolled his eyes, remembering those days.

"You wouldn't believe them now. They work totally in synch with one another. If Starfleet has any reservations about married officers, those two will certainly help put them to rest."

Erika smiled.

"That's nice, actually. A few of my officers have paired off, though they don't realize I've noticed. My first officer takes every excuse he can get to run down to sickbay and see the doctor. He delivers PADDs down there and doesn't think I've figured out that he's looking to see the doctor."

"I thought your doctor was a male...oh, right…No regulations against that, either."

Erika giggled.

"Starfleet is based in San Francisco, Jon. I don't know why you are so surprised."

He laughed.

"I shouldn't be," he said, "In fact, two of my female crewman are a couple."

"Do you think the Romulans are tolerant of different sexualities?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said, knowing he couldn't reveal that he had one on his ship, even to Erika, "On the one hand, they are apparently very decadent and pleasure-seeking. On the other hand, they also seem to have strict social protocols. It's a toss up…and frankly, I hope we never find out. I want to beat them back into their quadrant and never worry about what they think of anything again…do you have any booze? I could use a drink."

Erika looked up at the chronometer, and she looked at Jon carefully.

"Sex during the day shift I can do. But not booze," she said as if it was a question.

He sighed.

"For a moment, I forgot how early it was," he said, "You're right. It's a bad idea on during one's shift."

She nodded, reassured.

"C'mon," she said, "We can save time if we make use of the captain's shower together."

* * *

The next day, T'Pol sat across from Archer in his ready room. Archer was looking out the window, his hands behind his back. He felt sad about what he was going to say, for a number of reasons, even though it was essentially good news.

"T'Pol," he said, "remember when you joined Starfleet, and you said that you didn't think it was appropriate for a Vulcan to have permanent command of a human starship?"

She nodded. This had been at her suggestion. She had expressed no desire to captain a human ship, only to serve on one.

"Well," he said, "I'm being promoted to Admiral. I'll be stationed on the new, large battleship_ Cochran_ with command of her as well as five of the smaller cruisers."

T'Pol nodded again. Since the Xindi attack, Earth had fast-tracked the construction of battleships.

"_Enterprise_ will also be part of my fleet, until the war ends. Hopefully after that, she can go back to exploring," he continued.

T'Pol nodded. Such big changes were expected in a time of war. As the hero of the Xindi conflict, Archer was an appropriate choice for promotion.

"Starfleet wants to make Trip captain of the _Enterprise_," said Archer, turning to look at her.

T'Pol did not react.

"They also think you're still the best person to be her first officer," said Archer, "Since they assume you two wouldn't want to be stationed apart from one another."

"No, we would not," she said.

"You've always had seniority over Trip. Now he's going to be your CO. Given how well you two have done working together so far, Starfleet believes you can handle this. Can you?"

"Of course, Captain," she said.

"Good. And we're not telling Trip until we get to Earth. Can you keep this a secret from him?"

That caused T'Pol to pause, and he saw telltale twitch of her mouth. Archer knew about the bond, and thus he had an inkling of how difficult it would be for her to keep something like this from her husband.

"Yes," she said, "Although he will be annoyed. I will not be able to keep the fact that I am keeping a secret that concerns him from him."

Archer smiled, very happy that he wasn't caught up in some weird Vulcan telepathic relationship. Sometimes, he was envious of Trip but not at the moment.

"I'll miss this ship," sighed Archer, "and I'll miss seeing you and Trip and everyone every day, but we'll be in constant communication while _Enterprise_ is in my fleet. There will even be regular meetings aboard_ Cochran_."

"I shall miss working with you each day," she said, sincerely.

"Life is about change," sighed Archer.

* * *

Malcolm rang Hoshi's door. They hadn't seen each other in days, and he sensed it wasn't just because they were both busy.

"Come in," she said softly.

As the door opened, he saw her sitting in a chair looking out at the stars. He walked in and closed the door behind him, but he didn't move much further than that. He leaned back against the door. He sensed a great coolness from her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She turned and looked at him.

"_I'm_ fine," she said.

"Then you're worried about our prisoner," he said.

"He has a name," she said, "He's a person as well as a prisoner, and he will never be able to return to his people thanks to what we did."

"That's hardly our fault," said Malcolm, "We would not treat someone in such a fashion."

"No," she said, "We'd just let them live with the guilt."

Malcolm knew immediately to what she was referring. He wanted to kick himself for ever allowing her to be a part of something that would dredge up her memories of being held captive by the Xindi.

He walked over and knelt beside her chair. He made no move to touch her or even look at her. He just stared out at the same stars that she stared out at.

"I'm glad you survived," he said, "I'd miss you if you were no longer here. I would have before but especially now."

She turned her head to look at him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she didn't. She just turned back and stared out at the stars. After a long while, he got up and left without saying a word.

* * *

A couple hours later, Malcolm was working with Trip in the armory, getting things organized for the coming upgrades.

"How's Hoshi?" asked Trip.

Malcolm looked up.

"Rumors get around a ship pretty quick," said Trip, "Phlox heard from Cutler, who saw you leaving her quarters a few mornings back. Phlox told Hess who told me. Plus Hoshi told T'Pol while they were being held on the surface."

Malcolm calibrated the canon he was working on.

"Do you two having any secrets?"

"Just a very few," said Trip, "it takes some concentration, but it's possible. You never answered my question. Last time I saw Hoshi, she looked like hell. Did you have anything to do with that?"

Malcolm heard the accusation in his friend's voice.

"In a round about way," said Malcolm, "She feels guilty over the interrogation. She _likes_ the prisoner. More than your wife does, it would seem."

Trip smiled, and he gave Malcolm one of those smug I'm-in-a-happy-relationship-so-I'll-dispense-some-advice looks that single people hated.

"The guy's charming. The guy's mysterious. The guy saved her life. And the guy's in a sympathetic situation," said Trip.

Malcolm threw down his scanner in frustration.

"The guy's also unattainable," said Trip.

"You are not making me feel better," snapped Malcolm.

"The worst thing you can do is push her toward him by being an ass," said Trip, "Maybe you should just offer to spend some time with her while we're on Earth."

It wasn't a bad idea, thought Malcolm, but he stayed quiet. They all had leave coming up, during the refit.

"Just remember," continued Trip, "You're the spy guy. You're British. And you're not going to spend the next few years rotting in a Vulcan jail. You've got plenty of pluses in your column."

Malcolm went back to work. He wanted to tell Trip that his jealousy was only a small part of the issue, that Hoshi was still dealing with her own traumas. But Malcolm held his tongue. It wasn't Trip's business. It wasn't anyone's business but hers, and his business now that he knew. Malcolm resolved to help her in any way he could. He cared deeply for her, and it was his duty to help her.

* * *

Trip and T'Pol found time to dine together in the mess hall, then they each went their separate ways for an hour or two. Trip went back to engineering, and she went back to the bridge. They were a good match, in that they were both workaholics. But Trip made her promise that she would meet him back at their quarters by 2100 hours. She agreed, and they both arrived nearly at the same time.

"Do you want some tea?" he asked, knowing how she liked her chamomile before meditation.

"That would be agreeable husband," she replied as she sat down on the couch.

Trip began to brew the tea, and he chatted about things in engineering.

"Oh," he said, "I spoke with the first officer on _Columbia_. Hernandez and Archer disappeared for an hour and a half this afternoon. Private captains' meeting. In her quarters," said Trip.

T'Pol leaned forward.

"You believe they had sexual relations," she stated.

"It's possible. They used to be an item," he said. "Years back. I think they started things up again after The Expanse for time."

"I hope they find each other's company agreeable," replied T'Pol.

Trip restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Vulcans used "agreeable" as a euphemism for almost anything positive.

"And meanwhile, there's something sour between Malcolm and Hoshi," said Trip, "but I haven't given up on those two yet."

He brought her her tea. She stared at him, and he sensed that she was still fascinated by humans' interest in each other's matings.

"I hope Malcolm and Hoshi work through their differences — as we did," she said.

Trip stared back at her, sipping his own tea. He couldn't believe he'd gotten used to chamomile, even though it was better than Vulcan tea.

"Agreed. By the way, I've arranged for our travel to Mississippi," he said. "We'll leave three days after we get to headquarters."

He knew she felt like they had slighted his parents, and she was grateful for the chance to make up for it. But he also knew that she wasn't looking forward to the visit. He gently took her hand and probed her mind for the reason.

He realized that she didn't want to be the cause of friction between him and his parents, and she especially didn't want to be the source of any pain for him. He felt the guilt well up in her for all the things that had happened in the past.

"Don't worry," he said, "They are already warming to the idea of you. It'll be fine, and now that the Vulcans are our allies in this war, a lot of that old tension is past…"

Trip concentrated more fully. He sensed she was blocking him.

"What are you keeping from me?"

T'Pol looked him in the eye.

"I can't tell you. You will be informed when we get to Earth," she said.

"What would Starfleet tell you right away that they won't tell me until we get to Earth?"

He clutched at her hand and probed deeper with his mind. She blocked him well, but he still got a sense that something serious was going on.

"It's a Starfleet thing. A big thing. What is it?"

"Trip," she said, "Don't make me violate an order to keep quiet about this. Protocol dictates that I not tell you. If it were important that you know now, I promise I would…please, I must be the first officer and not your wife in this."

Trip squinted at her. She was being honest. He hated secrets, but he understood.

"You sure they're gonna tell me?"

She nodded.


	17. Chapter 17

Trip couldn't believe his eyes. Everything in San Francisco looked the same to him. Besides that, it was beautiful, clear day. The Golden Gate shown brightly in the sun as a blur of tourists walked across her. Sea lions were sunbathing themselves on rocks in the bay, and seagulls flew overhead, as did a series of bright colored kites. Nothing appeared to be wrong. The mood felt light, as breezy as the bay itself. It was surreal.

When the Xindi attacked, it felt like something had happened. Tourists were few and people didn't smile. But the Xindi had attacked Earth directly, not a few ships dozens of lightyears away.

Trip wondered unhappily what it would take to make people understand the seriousness of the situation. Would the Romulans have to attack Earth directly?

His communicator chirped.

"Admirals Williams and Admiral Archer will see you now, Sir," said the voice of Williams's assistant.

_Admiral? _thought Trip, slightly shocked. Then he thought about it some more. _Of course, that would make sense. Good for Jon._

Trip headed into the office, trying not to think about what this would mean for him. Would this mean there would be a new Captain? He swallowed his nervousness and put on his best formal, Starfleet posture as he headed into the big office. There stood Admirals William and Leonard, and Archer was there with new pips on his uniform.

"Congratulations, Capt…Admiral…" said Trip, smiling and standing at attention.

"At ease, Commander," said Archer, also smiling, "Or as I should probably say, Captain."

Trip looked at him, incredulous.

"You're kiddin?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding, Captain?" replied Archer, who approached Trip and pinned a new pip on his uniform, "We're going to have to get you some gold stripes before _Enterprise_ leaves space dock."

Trip blinked, then he understood.

"Thank you, Admiral," he said, "I'm honored."

"I wouldn't leave _Enterprise_ in anyone else's hands," said Archer, "Besides me, no one knows her better and loves her more than you."

"Thank you, sir," he said, "Who's gonna be chief engineer?"

"I think that's up to you, Captain," said Archer, "but you'll be happy to know that Commander T'Pol has agreed to remain first officer as well as your science officer."

A flicker of relief washed over Trip's face. Then, it was all business. Archer explained that he would be commanding a fleet and what role _Enterprise_ would play in the fleet. Trip was given command briefings and intelligence reports, and a formal list of his new duties. Afterward, Jon invited him to dine in the Admiral's mess, just the two of them. They ate steak, drank a Napa cabernet and looked out at the sparkling bay.

"Thank you, Admiral," said Trip, "I don't know how I'll live up to…I promise…I'll do my best."

"Don't sell yourself short. You've always done well in that big chair, very well," said Jon, "I was half-hurt at how comfortable the brass was at handing her over to you…I guess I'm the brass now."

Trip took a bite of his steak.

"You know," he said, "I'm not sure this is as good as Chef's…you're not taking Chef with you?"

Archer sighed.

"He turned me down," said Archer, "He's not Starfleet, you know. And he likes it on _Enterprise_. Thinks of the crew as family."

"Remind me to give him a raise," replied Trip, "I can't wait to tell T'Pol…she'll be…wait, she already knows, doesn't she?"

Archer nodded.

"We wanted to make sure she was okay with it, given that she's always outranked you. She's fine with it. Kind of proud, if Vulcans can be proud. Do you think you two will be able to continue to work together? I mean, very few people outside the ship know you two are even married…but still…"

Trip thought carefully about this new situation. He had been fine with T'Pol giving him orders, when necessary. He was pretty sure she'd be okay if the situation was reversed. In any case, he'd find out soon enough.

"In the meantime," continued Archer, "you're under orders to take three weeks off. This situation is going to put everyone under stress, and Starfleet wants us all to get in R&R while we can. You'll have three weeks at Jupiter Station before we launch back toward the Beta Quadrant."

Trip nodded.

"Mom and Dad are going to be thrilled," he said matter-a-factly, "I'll wait and tell them when T'Pol and I get there in a few days."

Archer smirked.

"I'd like to be a fly on the wall when they meet T'Pol," he said, choking back a laugh.

Trip glared at him.

"Okay, I should probably say 'when T'Pol meets them'…All I'm saying is that the Tucker clan is demonstrative…emotional…fun…and none of those things are very Vulcan."

Trip shook his head. Archer had a point, although he didn't know about his family's reservations about T'Pol. In fact, Trip had been so worried about his family's reservations about T'Pol, it didn't occur to him to worry that she might develop reservations about them. He had better warn them to tone it down. Except that might insult them, and they might take it out on her. He furrowed at the thought and took a sip of his wine.

"Well," he said, "at least we can escape to deep space war zone if things go really downhill."

The new Admiral nodded.

"By the way," he said, "I'm going to hit the 602 club tomorrow night. Would you and T'Pol care to join? It will be sort of like old times."

"I'm there. I'll ask her if she wants to join. She's heard so much about the place, I'm sure it will pique her Vulcan curiosity."

* * *

That night, Trip dressed in his civilian clothes, as did T'Pol. They had decided to head out for a celebratory night on to the town at her suggestion. T'Pol had tied a shimmering scarf of triaxian silk around her head to hide her ears, and she wore a human style dress and high heels. Her hair had grown much longer in the last few months as well, so it appeared that the scarf was simply tying it out of her face.

T'Pol had proposed a late dinner at the jazz club called Fusion. Trip knew she liked jazz because she often listened to twentieth century classic recordings like _Birth of the Cool_ and _Sketches of Spain_ when she worked in their quarters. Occasionally, she would even ask Trip if he thought a riff had been composed or improvised. Yet, he was still surprised she even knew of the place.

They were seated in a corner banquet in the back, which allowed them to sit next to one another and be close enough to touch. Trip looked at T'Pol, seeing if she would go for it. She rarely touched in him public, and almost never affectionately. But she was pretending to be human. She slid across the red leather seat and allowed him to put his arm around her. A quartet was playing an improvised version of an old song, and T'Pol paid careful attention.

A waiter appeared.

"Do you have any Grand Dame?" asked Trip, wanting to celebrate with the best Champagne.

The waiter nodded and disappeared. Soon, a steward appeared with a bottle and two flutes. Once the libations were poured, and the steward gone, T'Pol lifted a glass.

"Congratulations, Captain," she whispered.

He clinked glasses with her, meeting her gaze.

"Thank you, Commander…you sure you're gonna be able to live with being under my command?"

T'Pol sipped on her Champagne, and she feigned as though she was thinking hard about it.

"Well," she said, "remember a few months ago when you taught me the game where you were the one in command of me?"

Trip blushed a little. That fun night had resulted from a day when she had been had been particularly harsh with him over the speed of some repairs. When he had returned to their quarters, he had decided to show her a totally new form playacting, where he was the one in charge for once.

"Perhaps I'll better be able to live with you commanding me by day, if now and again I am allowed to command _you_ at night."

She put her small hand on his neck and felt his pulse beat, then she leaned up and kissed him on the lips.

"If that's what it takes to make you happy," he whispered, "but we'll have to play it the other way now and again, too, just so you remember who _is_ in command."

She thought about this.

"Agreed," she said and closed her eyes.

The band was improvising a mash-up of two melodies, and T'Pol listened carefully. She was remembering her previous visit to this place, which had had had a profound effect on her. Memories of that night flitted in his mind as they came to her.

He realized the music evoked an emotional response from her that was slightly dangerous.

"You okay?"

She nodded.

"I came here once, by myself, when I was stationed at the Vulcan compound. I was walking alone and the music drew me inside," she said, mindful that she hadn't told anyone this since she had told Tolaris.

"I found the music," she said, "fascinating. Chaotic. But back then, I didn't understand emotions well enough to…handle the sounds. Since I've bonded with you, I've been able to enjoy the music."

Tolaris had made her fear listening to jazz, but Trip was so comfortable with his emotions, so open that he had restored her love for the music without even knowing it. As she sometimes helped him control his emotions, he could help her access hers without fear.

For a moment, Trip sensed a fleeting, very unpleasant memory. Something had happened to her, but then it was gone. He didn't want to press the issue, but he knew he would need to ask her what had happened to make her stop listening for a period, when she so clearly enjoyed the music. It was more than just fear of emotions.

But he put the thought aside for the night. Instead, he just watched her as she enjoyed the music. It had never been his favorite genre, but he was going to have to rethink his position.

* * *

Malcolm paced the observation deck of Jupiter Station. One senior officer needed to be at the station while the repairs were being made, and he had volunteered to be the one to stay for this week. Travis would relieve him after that, and he would at least get to spend some time in the fresh air. He had decided to go to Hawaii again and spend his leave there. He wanted to invite Hoshi, but she had been so distant since the interrogation, and he was her senior officer. He couldn't risk trying to press her into speaking to him, let alone accompanying him on shore leave. On the other hand, he was afraid that if he didn't show interest and concern, she would assume he didn't care.

"Dammit," he said, "I've given her enough space."

He knew where she was staying on the station. She could have gone back to Earth, but for reasons of her own, she had stayed on Jupiter Station. Malcolm had gotten a report that she had been visiting the prisoner, who was now residing in secure guest quarters on the station, under the guise of studying his language. Malcolm knew that her reasons were more complex, of course.

He decided to go find her.

* * *

Hoshi, however, wasn't in her quarters. She was in the spacious VIP suite that had become Enme's prison. They were sitting at a small table, overlooking the red storm of Jupiter. They were having a conversation in Romulan.

"It's beautiful," said Enme, "Very breathtaking."

"Are there gas giants in the Romulan system?"

He nodded.

"We've got one even bigger than this. It's a bluish green color, but it doesn't have rings or a storm like that."

"Jupiter was always my favorite planet, growing up."

"You had a favorite planet? That wasn't your home?"

"Didn't you learn about the planets in school?"

Enme nodded.

"Yes, but we wouldn't think of having a favorite…you humans never cease to amaze me with your…preciousness and sentimentality."

"We're proud of our sentimentality," she replied.

Enme took a deep breath. Since becoming a prisoner, he had learned to like Hoshi. In fact, he had liked her when he first met her on the mining colony. Additionally, he liked his sister and Captain Archer. It was just a shame they were his enemies.

Additionally, he sensed no guile in Hoshi's visits. He sincerely believed that she was there because she wanted to learn more Romulan vocabulary and because she felt sympathy for him. She wasn't a spy.

This puzzled him because he also sensed that the operative, Lt. Commander Reed, was involved with Hoshi somehow. He didn't know how involved they were, but humanoid body language couldn't be that different. Whenever Enme glanced appreciatively at Hoshi when Reed was around, Reed had bristled.

_Yes_, thought Enme, _Reed must care very much for Hoshi or else he wouldn't allow himself to be so transparent._

Enme didn't want Hoshi to come to any harm, but he needed to figure out how to use this fact to his advantage.

* * *

The next morning, Trip and T'Pol slept in and then decided to go running across the Golden Gate Bridge. The day was again perfect, and both of them were reveling in the little things about being planetside that they tried not to miss too much when they were on the ship. The feeling of real gravity. Birds singing. Wind blowing. Both of them loved being in deep space, but it was impossible not to enjoy time on Earth.

They each had worked up a good sweat, and they had slowed their paced to a walk as they explored Golden Gate Park. T'Pol knelt down and examined a branch that was teeming with lady bugs.

"It is an incorrect name," she said, "Some of these insects are male."

Trip grinned. She could hide her ears but not her nature.

"The name comes from them being pretty, like a lady."

He could tell she still didn't get it, and he was glad. He liked having something about him that was superior to Vulcans. Humans grasped metaphor far better.

They found a shady bench, and they sat down together to rest and drink some water.

"So," he said, "are you looking forward to our trip to Mississippi?"

She looked him in the eye.

"We have insulted your parents by not visiting them," she said, "I am eager to repair the slight."

He nodded. He knew better than to ask if she was nervous. He resolved instead to call his parents and tell them to be sensitive to her Vulcan culture. That would have to be enough.

They sat for awhile, and he remembered how much she had enjoyed their previous evening. He also remembered the fleeting memory of something that had happened. He was pretty sure it involved the _V'tosh Ka'tur_. He then thought back to how she had been ill for days after they left. He hadn't known her well then, and he never knew what was wrong, but he was beginning to put two and two together. She had been hurt by one of them, and he guessed which one of them it was.

He took her hand, and he shared the direction of his thoughts.

She closed her eyes, but she was blocking the memory.

"Are you sure you wish to know?" she asked.

He actually wasn't sure at all, but he knew he needed to know.

Gradually, she unblocked the memory. He felt what Tolaris had done to her, and how she had long blamed herself. However, going to the club had been a test. She had wanted to see if she could listen to the music without it feeling tainted. She had finally let go of what had happened.

"I'm glad I didn't know. I would have probably killed him," said Trip, who surprised himself when he realized he wasn't being hyperbolic.

"We weren't bonded then."

"No," he said, "but I liked you enough that I would have wanted him dead."

"It's long over," she said.

He sensed she didn't want to discuss it further, and he respected that.

* * *

When Malcolm had discovered Hoshi's quarters empty, he had gone back to his temporary office and done some work. He had been tempted to hover around her quarters and wait for her return, but he decided against it. Malcolm was many things, but he wasn't a stalker.

After he filed his last report, he found his way back to her quarters and hit the door chime. It opened.

She was wearing her exercise clothes and stretching on the floor.

"Hello," she said.

"I came to see if you wanted to get dinner later," said Malcolm.

She didn't respond. Not with a no, not with a yes.

_Screw this_, thought Malcolm.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Those are four worst words in the English language," she said, "Nothing good ever follows them."

He laughed. She wasn't wrong about that. He approached her on the floor and sat down next to her.

"You're in pain," he said, "I get that. I never should have allowed you to take part in the interrogation. You're in a unique position to empathize with the prisoner. . with Commander Enme . . .and it wasn't fair to ask you to try and pretend that wasn't true."

She turned away from him. He leaned over and very gently turned her head toward his so he could look her in the eyes.

"However," he said, "I think you know I care deeply about you and whatever this thing is between us, I don't want it to end."

He leaned over and kissed her. It wasn't precisely gentle, but it wasn't forceful either. It lasted a long time, and then she put her arms around him and deepened the kiss. Then, he carefully broke the embrace and stood up.

"You're either in this thing with me or you're not," said Malcolm, "if you want, I'm all in. But it has to be what you want."

He then turned on his heel and went before she could get a word out.


	18. Chapter 18

"Black Coffee, Dark Roast," said T'Pol, and soon a cup of coffee appeared.

She inhaled the aroma, which was not unpleasant, even though she couldn't stand the bitter drink.

She instead took the cup down the hall of the medium-sized Starfleet transport shuttle and into the private cabin she and Trip had been assigned. One of the luxuries of being a Starfleet officer was travel on Starfleet transports rather than the commercial ones, which didn't have private cabins. The trip to Mississippi would take approximately four hours, thanks stops in Dallas and New Orleans.

Still, the sunny little cabin was comfortable, resembling an old-fashioned train car except with a more streamlined design. In the cabin, T'Pol found the new captain of _Enterprise_ sprawled out, with a wet towel covering his head.

"I've brought you your coffee, Captain," she said.

Trip didn't move, but he spoke weakly. "I didn't ask you for it as my first officer. That would be a breach of protocol. I asked you as my wife and because I don't think I could have made it down the hall on my own."

"I still believe you should have seen a doctor for an analgesic," said T'Pol.

"Not if _Admiral_ Archer didn't need one," sighed Trip.

T'Pol helped Trip sit up and handed him the coffee, which he sipped on gingerly.

"I'm beginning to understand why the 602 Club has started to serve Klingon Blood Wine. Human males have similar competitive sociological patterns."

Trip squinted in the bright light of the cabin.

"You ain't kiddin, sweetheart," said Trip, "but promise me if you ever see me reaching for that swill again, nerve pinch me before I take one sip."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow, and she was about to speak. Then, it dawned on her that he was kidding.

"Perhaps I will just remind you of this incident, and that shall be enough to deter you."

"Jon has the tolerance of a man twice his size," moaned Trip.

"I think we've both noticed his determination to build up that tolerance of late," said T'Pol, "and I am grateful you don't share his habits."

Trip shook his head, acknowledging that she had a point. Gradually, they began to speak of the situation. Jon had always liked a drink, but since they had first gotten back from The Expanse, he had been a little too friendly with the bottle. As his subordinates, they certainly weren't in a position to say anything unless it endangered a mission. But Trip was concerned.

The night had started out fun, with the three of them talking about the first couple of years aboard the ship. Jon had told T'Pol some stories of the early days preparing for the mission, including he and Trip's adventures in Alice Springs. In return, T'Pol told them of her intelligence training on Vulcan. But then Jon had discovered, through the waitress called Ruby, that the club kept a secret bottle of blood wine behind the bar. Jon had bragged about his drinking it while imprisoned by the Klingons, and soon the two men were trading shots of the highly concentrated drink.

For her part, T'Pol was grateful that her husband was mostly a quiet drunk. She had learned in the short time they were married, that it was rare that Trip had too much to drink and when he did, he simply stopped talking. Unless you spoke to him first, and then he babbled incoherently. By the time she had helped him back to their suite at Starfleet headquarters, she resolved to thank Lt. Commander Reed for not allowing her husband to throw himself out of the airlock of Shuttlepod One all those years ago. In Trip's intoxicated condition, Reed had to have been at least tempted to let him go.

"It's a tricky situation," said Trip, "but if I ever see the Admiral hitting the bottle on duty again…I'll have to say something."

T'Pol raised another eyebrow.

"We knocked back a few when you and Hoshi were being held…it seemed harmless at the time, but in retrospect…"

His voice trailed off, and T'Pol did not respond. She had no idea how to respond to this unnerving habit Archer had developed. She knew very well the dangers of addiction, and how sensitive it could make someone.

"There's medication you can take to curb your habit," said Trip, "but it's getting people to admit to having a issue and taking the stuff that's always tricky. The medicine kills some of the pleasure of drinking because it stops you from feeling the intoxication. If you're hitting the booze to kill the pain, there isn't much point to being on anti-intoxicants."

"Perhaps I will suggest meditation," said T'Pol, "if the subject ever comes up."

"Let's hope it doesn't, darlin," said Trip, closing his eyes again.

T'Pol decided it was best to change the subject, since the situation with the Admiral could not be solved at the moment. Besides, her immediate concern was her husband.

"Do you believe you will be recovered by the time we reach Mississippi?"

Trip glanced up at the chronometer.

"I hope so," said Trip, not wanting his mom to recognize his ailment.

* * *

The ProConsul's cottage was normally his private retreat. Only his children and Reman servants ever came there, and he preferred it that way. Why he had offered it as the site of Bala and Ston's wedding, he didn't know. The wedding was planned quickly and the various family members had arrived on two separate warbirds and had spent a day mingling awkwardly.

Her family had long been rivals of his family, going back centuries. This wedding would unite them, and hopefully provide an alliance that would allow them all to dominate the senate and obtain the largest share of the spoils that would no doubt result from the current conflict.

Thankfully, however, the elaborate Romulan marriage ceremony did not have a role for the father of the groom. So, The ProConsul watched from a high balcony as the son he despised married the girl, instead of the son he loved.

_You are lucky, Ston,_ he thought, _if this marriage wasn't necessary, you would not be breathing.

* * *

_

Enme heard the chime at his door. Since his sister would be on Earth for a few more weeks, he figured it was either a steward or Hoshi. He was sitting in the chair at the window, watching the storm of Jupiter rage.

"Come in," he said.

He was surprised to see the intelligence officer, Malcolm Reed, enter his rooms.

"Hello," said Malcolm.

"Good Morning," said Enme, "How can I help you?"

"I'm here to help you," said Malcolm.

Enme laughed, unpleasantly.

"We're looking to open deep back-end negotiations with your people. Starting with your father. Our aim is to make them understand the lack of wisdom in trying to invade this quadrant. Can you help us?"

Enme stood up. He walked over to the much smaller man and glared at him. The officer didn't back down. He glared right back.

"No," said Enme, "You may go now."

Malcolm laughed at that.

"You're hardly in a position to give me orders," said Malcolm, "but think about what I said. When the war is over, you'll be free to go. Anywhere you like."

Enme turned and faced the window.

"Only cowards negotiate," he sneered.

Malcolm smiled.

"Well," he said, "I shall then leave you to your solitude."

Enme turned his head.

"Well, I'm sure Hoshi will stop by later."

"Don't count on it."

With that, the man left.

* * *

T'Pol drove the rented electric car with Trip riding shotgun from the Gulfport transport pad to the newly built Tucker home, which was tucked away on ten acres in the lush pine forests of Southern Mississippi.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better," he said. It wasn't a lie, but it was a matter of degrees.

"I suggest you ask your family for an analgesic when we arrive. It would not be dishonest to simply state you have a headache. You need not elaborate on the reason."

Trip sighed. She was right. He nodded. The house which sat in a sunny clearing was new and contemporary, but it was built from brick in a style that suggested the early twentieth century houses of the region — two stories with a large porch and a big, stained glass window above the door. Down a back path was a guest bungalow, built especially for Trip's brother's family and their frequent visits with their adopted son. Trip's brother's husband was Irish and the family lived in Ireland, so when they came it was for extended visits.

The red garage was an outbuilding about fifty meters before the house, and T'Pol parked the vehicle there. Trip flipped open his communicator.

"Mom, we're here," he said.

"Be right out," drawled Elaine Tucker through the device.

Trip and T'Pol headed for the main house. Trip glanced at his wife, who had been wearing human clothes since their arrival on Earth, but that morning she had dressed in Vulcan civilian robes of patterned silk. Rather than use a scarf to hide her ears, she had used one to tie her long hair back and make her ears conspicuous.

"The air is humid here," said T'Pol, looking up at the tall trees.

"Welcome to the Gulf Coast," he replied. "Let me know if you have any trouble breathing, okay? This is a long way from a Vulcan desert, and I know your body didn't evolve for this kind of humidity. The good new is that the mosquitos will likely leave you alone. They're only interested in old-fashioned iron blood."

He smiled at her. He had gently searched her mind to see if she was nervous, but she wasn't. She was accepting. She had married Trip, and it was her duty to meet his family. She intended to endure the visit like a Vulcan.

Elaine Tucker appeared on the front porch, and she immediately rushed down the stairs and pulled her son into a bear hug, which he returned. She wasn't as tall as her son, but she was thin and well-formed.

"Good to see you, Mom," said Trip.

"I'm just glad you made it here in one piece," she said. "You know, I sometimes avoid the news just because I don't want to here what kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into. Next time I see Jonathan Archer, I'm going to give him a good talking-to about risk-taking."

She reached up and brushed a hair out of Trip's eyes. Then, she turned to look at the Vulcan woman standing next to him.

"I'm glad to finally meet you in person, T'Pol," said Elaine, tentatively.

T'Pol reached a hand out.

"It is very agreeable to finally meet you in person, Ms. Tucker," said T'Pol.

Elaine glanced at Trip.

"I didn't think Vulcans shook hands," she said, taking T'Pol's hand.

"Most Vulcans don't," replied T'Pol, "but I'm endeavoring to adapt to human customs. And since you are family, physical contact is not inappropriate."

"Well," said Elaine, "that's very sweet of you. And we're going to adapt to some of yours. Charlie has made sure there will be plenty of veggies and tofu on separate vegetarian grill tonight. We're throwing party to celebrate your arrival. All the aunts, uncles and cousins will be here. Plus a good number of the neighbors. Oh, and we've got a zydeco band coming up from NOLA, and Uncle Jim is going to make a batch of his famous white russians. Plus there's going to be a keg…and I've ordered a wedding cake from town"

Trip bit his lip, trying to repress a laugh at the look on T'Pol's face.

"Don't either of you look at me that way. I was robbed of throwing you two a proper wedding. So you are to consider tonight a belated reception. I just wish your brother was here. But Bert doesn't want to take my grandson out of school…says the boy's getting too old…so, that means you two can stay in the guest quarters."

Trip nodded.

"I'll get our bags," he said.

"Nonsense. Your Dad will haul them out. It will insult him you don't let him do it. Not another word…he's out back setting some things up for tonight. Now come in. . I've got tea brewing in the kitchen. Trip told me that you drink tea…I've got some chamomile."

"Thank you, Ms. Tucker," said T'Pol, "Trip requires an analgesic for a headache. May we trouble you for one?'

Elaine looked at her son with concern, and put a maternal hand on his cheek.

"Headache! Ah, you did mention something about the 602 club didn't you? That place seems to deal in headaches. I hope he didn't embarrass you too much, my dear. Tuckers generally hold their liquor well but tend to babble…I guess you'll just have to go easy tonight, kid."

T'Pol blinked and shot her husband a look. He just grinned and led his wife into his parents house.

* * *

Hoshi arrived at Enme's door to find the guard there, as usual. This time, however, she was not allowed in.

"I have full clearance, Ensign," said Hoshi.

"Not any more, Lieutenant," said the nervous Ensign.

"It's my job to study the prisoner's language," said Hoshi.

"Orders have come down that you are no longer allowed access to the prisoner."

Hoshi wanted to argue, but she knew it was hardly the young ensign's fault. She knew exactly whose fault it was, and she was going to hold him responsible.

_How dare he not trust me. How dare he think I couldn't handle my job. How dare he read anything more than sympathy in my concern for…_

Hoshi stomped all the way to Malcolm's temporary office, and she blew straight past the assistant and right into the office where Malcolm sat reading an intelligence report.

"I suppose you didn't come here because you wanted to take me to lunch," said Malcolm, doing his best not to smile.

"You had no right to ban my access-"

"I had every right," said Malcolm, "and you know all the reasons why. Even the ones I didn't put in my report."

Hoshi's glared, folded her arms and sat down. She stared at him for the longest time without saying anything. Then, she spoke.

"It's not what you think," she said, "I'm not interested him in that way. You have no need to be jealous."

Hoshi realized that she wasn't lying, to her surprise. Enme was handsome and charming, but he wasn't exactly boyfriend material. She just felt sorry for him, and she felt guilty about his situation. It was possible to find someone attractive and know it wasn't possible to act on the attraction.

"Truly," she continued, "I pity him is all. Would you rather I pitied you and fucked him?"

Malcolm stood up, walked over to Hoshi and got nose to nose with her.

"Irrelevant, since we haven't fucked…in awhile."

Before she could react, Malcolm pulled her into a deep, long kiss. She had expected it to be hard and harsh, reflective of the anger she felt. But it wasn't. It wasn't precisely soft, either. It was just enough pressure to make her swoon slightly as she felt her anger drift away. She put her arms around him, genuinely happy to be there.

He pulled away, leaving her surprised.

"Are you in or out?" he asked.

There was no anger in his voice. It was just a simple question.

"You're either my girlfriend or you aren't. I'm not going to live with an open ended question," he continued.

She reached up and tried to answer him with a kiss, but he pulled away.

"Say the words," he said.

"I'm in. You're the one. You're my…boyfriend."

"So there will be no one else? We're exclusive?"

She sighed, hating these kinds of conversations but also recognizing his position.

"Yes," she sighed with a soft smile, "We're exclusive."

For the first time in a long time, Malcolm smiled at her and then pulled her back into the kiss.

* * *

Charlie Tucker looked around at the eighty or so guests that mingled in his lush backyard. The band played a lively old tune, heavy on the fiddle, and a few couples were even dancing. The smells from the grill filled the air, and a few children played tag across the back hill. People were having a good time.

Everyone, except his new daughter-in-law. She had simply shadowed his son the whole evening, saying little and reacting to nothing.

Charlie reminded himself that she was from a completely alien culture. For all he knew, she was having a great time.

His wife of nearly forty years approached him and handed him a glass of beer.

"So what do you think, Charlie? For real?"

"Well," he said, "She is beautiful, and they do seem rather attached. He can't keep his eyes off her."

"She's sexy as all get out, too," replied Elaine, "and no doubt presented a challenge. You know how our boy loves a challenge."

Charlie smiled at that and looked over at his son and daughter-in-law. Elaine's brother Troy was talking to them both, no doubt telling them about the local frog jumping contest that he'd recently won. Frog jumping was a tradition in Jefferson County, going back about 200 years.

"He is completely over the moon, isn't he? It's nice to see him happy…and she, well, she must care about him. She can hardly go back to her homeworld now. Vulcans are less on board with interspecies marriage than us humans. I do hope that Trip isn't upset with us for having a cake…I know we were supposed to keep quiet about their wedding," Elaine said.

"He's in such a good mood, you could probably post a global press release and he'd only be mildly irritated. But remember, he insisted there be no cake rituals. Vulcans are persnickety about their food habits, especially in public. Apparently, they don't even touch their food with their bare hands. Trip thinks having to stuff cake in his mouth would be mortifying for her."

"I heard that," said Elaine, "Did he tell you about the wedding? A long Vulcan ceremony with no reception."

"Vulcans aren't big on fun, that's for sure. We're not supposed to ask her to dance. Vulcans don't dance. At least, not the way we do."

Charlie saw that Troy had run off to the grill, no doubt to pile up another plate of food for himself. In doing so, he briefly let the newlyweds alone. Trip whispered something into his wife's pointed ear, and he very quickly brushed the palm of her hand with his finger. Even from a distance, Charlie sensed an electricity between them.

Charlie had noticed that his son almost never touched his new wife, especially when they were in view of others. Considering the way Trip used to unabashedly and very publicly make out with his previous girlfriends, even in eyeshot of his parents, Charlie assumed that it was out of respect for her culture that they didn't touch. And yet, that one little brush seemed far more intense than anything Charlie had ever witnessed between Trip and his other girlfriends.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: There's a reference to my one shot story "Tell Me a Story" here, but you don't have to have read it to understand. It helps, though._

_There are also some words in the Malay language, which I hope are correct as I depended on someone else to translate. They are end noted._

_

* * *

_The sun shone through the big window of the Tucker guest house, bathing the oversized four poster bed with light. Trip opened his eyes and found himself alone under the sumptuous coverlet, and he heard noises coming from the small kitchen that was part of the main room.

Planetside sensations seemed to surround him. He inhaled deeply to better enjoy the scent of fresh linen mixed with the crisp forest air that breezed through the window screens. He could hear insects chirping and buzzing, birds singing and even the wind blowing through the tops of the trees. Morning was the best time to enjoy Mississippi, before the heat of the day became oppressive and the climate controls had to be activated.

He sat up as a still pajama-clad T'Pol entered to room, carrying a mug of coffee for him and a mug of tea for herself. She handed him his coffee, and then climbed in bed next to him.

"Did you enjoy the party?" he asked, teasingly.

"It was agreeable to meet your family," she said, "and to fulfill my social obligations to them."

"Uncle Troy was quite taken with you," replied Trip. "Says he wants to visit Vulcan now, since the women are so pretty."

T'Pol glanced at Trip, not even bothering to raise her eyebrow. He sensed in her a combination of amusement and annoyance.

"I'm not sure that Troy would fit in among my people," she replied, with customary Vulcan understatement.

Uncle Troy had been very helpful to her, however. She had seemed especially pleased to hear how Troy had read the novel _Tom Sawyer_ to young Trip several times. Troy had also told her that he had told young Trip that Mr. Twain had based the story on their Missouri forefather.

"Was there a basis for that claim in fact?" T'Pol had asked Troy, sincerely.

"Let's just say when the family legend becomes the truth, embrace the legend. It's always more interesting," Troy had responded with a laugh.

Tall tales and hyperbole were part of the Tucker family tradition, and Trip was glad that T'Pol had gotten a good dose of that at the party and had clearly been charmed as opposed to horrified.

"Your mother is cooking a large midmorning meal for us," said T'Pol, "She wishes us to come to the main house at 1100 hours."

"She does a great brunch," said Trip, yawning.

T'Pol sipped on her tea.

"I am glad of not eating this morning, considering the unnatural amount of food I consumed last night."

"Well, it was a party," he said smiling and putting his coffee on the nightstand and running his hand up her leg. "It's early yet. What shall we ever do with our time until brunch?"

Trip leaned over and began to plant soft kisses on her neck.

"You haven't brushed your teeth, husband," she said, "Kissing you on the mouth is more pleasant when you have."

He grinned, hopped up and headed toward the bathroom while she continued to sip on her tea. When he emerged from the bathroom, he had not only brushed his teeth but removed all his sleeping clothes. Naked and fully aroused by the sight of her against the white sheets, he strode over and climbed up onto the bed. She put her mug on the nightstand, never taking her eyes off him.

"Now will you kiss me?" he asked playfully.

"Where would you like me to kiss you, husband? It seems you've given me many options."

Trip smiled and closed his eyes.

"Why don't you surprise me?"

She paused for a moment. Rather than begin at the two most obvious places, she instead leaned over and kissed the rounded-top of his ear before gently blowing into it. He was far more captivated by the points of her ears, but she nevertheless adored the roundness of his and had said so many times. She proceeded to lick the round part the way he had so often done with her pointed ears.

"Mmmmm…" he responded.

After she had finished that leisurely exploration, she straddled him and sat on his taut stomach so she could give the other ear the same treatment. Not one to sit idle, Trip unbuttoned her top and pushed it off of her.

When she had finished with the second ear, she kissed the tip of his nose before covering his mouth with her own. Mouth open, it was as if she was tasting the mint of his breath as their tongues swirled around each other. His hands grabbed at her rear end through the silk of her pajama bottoms.

She was the one who broke the kiss, but only to continue planting kisses down his neck and chest. She looked up at him and he smiled at her, and she wiggled further down his body. She first kissed the top of his shaft, sending a jolt through his whole body with her warm lips. As she swirled her tongue around the tip, he closed his eyes and his breathing quickened. She slowly took the whole thing in her mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure as she moved up and down. He ached with pleasure.

Rarely did he let her finish him this way. It wasn't fair to her that he have all the fun, but he sensed she intended to make use of the hours they had to kill. When he whispered that he was close, she continued on, using one hand to help her along with her task and slipping the other hand into his. He couldn't fight it, so he just let the sensations from her mouth and tongue overwhelm his body and his mind.

"Oh, honey," he whispered.

She sped up her movements, and with a shiver and jerk he spilled into her mouth as bliss overtook him. Still, he watched her as she sat up and quickly grabbed a tissue off the nightstand and discreetly spit into it. _Ever the vegan_, he thought, amused. He was still caught up in his euphoria, but managed to lovingly brush her hair from her face as she laid her head on his chest and waited for him to recover.

"That was…amazing. You are…amazing," he whispered.

She sighed contently, enjoying what he was feeling through their linked minds.

"But be warned," he said mischievously, "I'm going to have to come up with some creative way to thank you. Just give me a minute or so-"

* * *

In the shadowy light of his rooms on Jupiter Station, Malcolm had Hoshi on her knees, face pressed face down on his bed. They were both naked, and he was inside her, whispering in her ear. He spoke words in Malay, surprising her that he knew the language which so few people spoke.

"_Aku cinta kamu_," he said. (1)

She tried to turn and look at him, to see if he knew what he had just said, but he wouldn't let her. He gently turned her head back and whispered in her ear.

"_Aku tahu apa yang kukatakan_." (2)

She closed her eyes and let go of everything, just allowing herself to feel him inside her and his fingers working at her. It wasn't long before she was overwhelmed with pleasure, nearly collapsing. He soon followed her, and then gently turned her over and took her into his arms.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he hushed her.

"Don't say it back," he said, "I don't want you to say it because I did. I want you to say it because you mean it."

She titled her head a little, as if thinking about this.

"I didn't know you spoke Malay."

"You know I grew up partially in Malaysia. I picked up a few things from—from the servants and the street vendors," he said, slightly embarrassed.

The world had supposedly moved beyond such class distinctions, but most upper class Malaysians spoke perfect English and wouldn't have bothered speaking the native tongue to a British boy.

"I'm impressed," she said, "You've got an English accent for sure, but it's very slight."

"I've been working on Andorian. I'll try that out on you someday, too."

"I'd like that," she said as she settled into his arms, "I'm glad things are better between us. I'm glad."

She spoke the truth. In past hours, the sadness that had wrapped around her like a blanket since the interrogation had lifted. She felt safe. If she began to remember what she had seen Malcolm doing that day, she pushed it from her mind. He was doing his job, and there had been not hint that he had gotten any pleasure from what he had done. That made him very different from the Xindi who had hurt her.

"I'm glad, too," he said, playing with her hair, "Are you okay? Really okay? Not just with us, but with everything?"

She sighed.

"With us, I'm okay. I'll get back to you on everything."

* * *

Elaine Tucker had wanted some time alone with her daughter-in-law. So, after brunch, she had insisted that her husband show their son the house's new atmospheric system, which not only kept the house at a decent temperature but also dealt with the twin demons of the Mississippi air, humidity and pollen.

T'Pol helped her put all the dishes in the dishwasher, and even carefully cleaned a few of the bone china pieces that were to fragile for the machine.

"That was my great-great-great-great grandmother's," said Elaine taking a small sugar bowl from T'Pol, "She bought it in Ireland on her honeymoon. Her parents had come from Ireland originally. Funny that after a couple of centuries, my son returned there."

T'Pol stared at the little dish, amazed that it had survived so many years of use.

"I am looking forward to meeting your other son," said T'Pol.

"You'll like him," said Elaine, "and he'll adore you. I'm glad you'll get to meet that branch of the family before you return to space."

Elaine put the sugar dish away in a cabinet, and then she opened a drawer and pulled out a square box.

"You know…since Bert is married to a man…and we lost our daughter, you're pretty much my only daughter…"

Elaine opened the box and pulled out a jeweled butterfly clip.

"My mother gave me this when I married Charlie. She got it from her mother, and honestly, I don't know how far it back it goes beyond that. I was going to give this to Lizzie when she got married, but you know what happened. I think she'd want you to have it since well- "

Elaine approached T'Pol from the back and gathered her hair into a twist and clipped it with the butterfly.

"There, it looks very pretty on you. Very pretty."

T'Pol glanced at herself in a mirror that was on the far wall. She turned to Elaine.

"I thank you, Ms. Tucker. I am honored."

"Would it be so very un-Vulcan if you called me Elaine?" asked Elaine.

Bert's husband called her Mom, but she thought that might be pushing it.

"I am honored, Elaine."

"C'mon," she said, "Let's go find the boys before they decide to dismantle the climate system for this house."

* * *

Enme stared up and the plain ceiling of his cabin/prison. His sister wouldn't be back from the main planet for weeks, and Hoshi had been banned from seeing him.

_Perhaps_, he thought, _Lt. Commander Reed is simply trying to bore me to death_.

Death. That was something he had contemplated quite a bit lately. He should have found away to die by now, given his situation. That was what was expected of a person in his position. Romulans simply did not endure the indignity of being a prisoner.

Unfortunately for Enme, he was rather attached to his own existence. Furthermore, he actually sort of liked these humans that were holding him. He also found he enjoyed their food and drink, and he was even starting to pick up their language thanks to his conversations with Hoshi.

But, he knew he was only putting off the inevitable. He was going to have to die, and he should probably do it, soon.

"No time like the present," he said aloud in his native tongue to no one in particular.

He thought out a plan for the next couple of hours. The easiest thing to do would be to kill the steward and the guards, take the guard's weapon and be done with the matter. But that seemed a little untoward. The steward had been bringing him all sorts of alcoholic beverages to try, including the sake Hoshi had recommended. Killing the guards wouldn't bother him so much, but that might upset his sister. He wouldn't want to cause her any trouble. They were family, after all.

So, he formulated a more complicated but still possibly quite effective plan. He waited patiently for the steward to arrive with his afternoon meal. As the man was setting out the plate, Enme grabbed him from behind and cut off his oxygen supply. Moments later, the man collapsed to the floor, unconscious but alive. Enme quickly switched uniforms with him, grateful that the steward was also tall, and then opened the door. He punched one guard and quickly tripped the other. He grabbed a phase pistol and stunned both of them. It wasn't exactly easy, but it wasn't hard either. He was, after all, a highly trained military man with plenty of hand-to-hand combat experience.

Enme assumed that the station's sensors would detect the phaser fire so he moved quickly, but not so quickly that he would arouse the suspicions of the humans he passed in the hallway. For all they knew, he was a Vulcan in a Starfleet uniform, just like his sister.

He kept reminding himself not to smile.

Enme looked down at the weapon in his hand, and he realized he had no idea how to turn it from stun to kill.

_That's damn inconvenient_, he thought, recognizing he'd look very foolish if he just managed to stun himself.

He knew there had to be an airlock or an incinerator or even a steep drop somewhere around here. He jumped in a turbolift and hit a button that didn't appear to be a main floor. He got out and headed down the hall. He turned a corner. Down the hall he saw a familiar figure, though she wasn't facing him.

He approached quickly.

"Hoshi?" he said.

She turned to look at him.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"I require your assistance, but don't worry this is set to stun. Still, I'm going to ask you to help me find an airlock or something."

"That's insane. This is the Sol system… you won't be able to get anywhere-"

"I'm not planning on going far," he said grimly.

She was puzzled for a moment, and then she appeared to understand. She had tried to do the same thing when held by the Xindi and had told him about it.

"I can't let you -"

"Hoshi," he said, "I saved your life. I rescued you. I'm not asking you to help me escape, just to help me become permanently useless to my captors."

She turned around to look behind her and then down the floor behind Enme.

"There's an airlock on this floor. It's used for maintenance. I'll show you," she said softly.

"Brilliant," said Enme.

* * *

Enme and Hoshi had just disappeared down an auxiliary corridor when Malcolm rushed from his quarters and headed toward the turbolift. The prisoner had, for reasons known only to himself, decided to escape his quarters. The two guards and the steward had been subdued, but they were all alive.

Malcolm briefly considered setting his phase pistol to kill, but then he remembered that wasn't policy. The man was a valuable asset, and every security officer on the station was looking for him. There wasn't, however, any kind of station wide alert since the prisoner's presence and identity were closely guarded secrets.

Malcolm's communicator chirped.

"We believe he's on your level, sir. And he may have a human hostage."

"Can you get me a location?"

"We're working on it, sir. The scanners on this station are pretty old."

Malcolm filed a note to himself in his head to request upgraded scanners for this station.

* * *

Trip stood on the sand, looking out at the Gulf of Mexico. Seagulls flew overhead, and a few people still sat on towels enjoying the beach, though it was a weekday and getting late. He kicked off his shoes and allowed the waves to wash over his feet. He looked back at T'Pol, who was not interested in doing the same.

"You know," he said, "This is the first time we've been on a real beach together. As opposed to an imaginary one. I'm glad Mom and Dad suggested we take a drive out here. It's not as pretty as Florida, but it'll do."

T'Pol inhaled the salt and seaweed smell of the beach, and she found it peculiar how much humans loved these places. Large bodies of water were associated with hurricanes and tsunamis and contained large predatory fish such as sharks. Vulcan had no such large oceans, and her people considered themselves lucky for it.

"It feels good, I promise," he said.

T'Pol decided to humor him, and she took off her shoes and joined him. The sun was setting in the west, and the sky had turned pink.

"If it weren't for the water and humidity," she said, "I'd say the sky looks somewhat Vulcan."

The water washed over her small feet, which were squished in the sand.

"The wet sand is good for your feet, you know," he said.

"It feels—pleasant," she replied, her hands behind her back.

"Maybe before we leave for Ireland, I'll convince you to go for a swim. It's not like the sharks will get you. They only sniff out iron blood."

She locked eyes with him, impressed at how adept he had become at reading her thoughts.

* * *

_1 I love you._

_2 I know what I said._


	20. Chapter 20

The bright light, so different from the dimness of his living quarters, hurt Enme's eyes. He squinted and stared out from the interior of the airlock at Hoshi, who stood patiently in the hallway. She had made no move to call security or even cry out for help. Enme realized that in a matter of minutes his life would be over. The thought didn't please him as he had always hoped to die in battle sometime after his 150th birthday.

"Do you want me to explain how to operate the mechanism? You can do it from inside the airlock. I won't operate it for you," said Hoshi in Romulan.

Enme examined the controls, which were bewildering to him.

"It will go faster if you _do_ operate the controls. It's not like you'd get in trouble. I'm the enemy."

"You're a valuable asset," said Hoshi glumly, "but that's not why I won't do it. I don't want you to die, and I don't think you deserve to die."

"Well then, by all means, explain these knobs and this panel. It makes no sense whatsoever. I daresay it seems _silly_ that you will explain to me how to do it but won't save me the trouble-" his voice drifted away.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Yes," he said.

"Do you want to die?"

"Of course not."

"Then why do this? There's a human expression. Where there is life there is hope."

He began pacing with his hands clasped behind his back.

"That is nonsense, and you know it. You tried to kill yourself when you were held by the Xindi. You told me that. You also told me that for months afterwards you wished you were dead because you had given up your code."

Hoshi stepped into the airlock and began looking at the interior controls.

"My people forgave me for what I did. They said it wasn't my fault."

"Romulans aren't humans," said Enme, "and you'd be more convincing if you told me you've forgiven yourself, which you clearly haven't."

He tossed aside the phase pistol. At this point, he wasn't going to shoot her, and he knew she knew that.

"I've noticed how different our two cultures are," she said, "Maybe you can't go back to your people, but you wouldn't be the universe's first exile."

"I'm not a traitor," he said, "but I did betray my people. I can't live with that."

For a long while, she looked at him, and then she got a very odd look her eye — one that Enme found chilling. She tapped into the controls. The door shut, trapping them both inside. A two minute countdown appeared, and Hoshi just stood there, watching it tick.

"There you go," she said flatly.

"Are you mad, woman?" he said, "Why have you-?"

Hoshi shrugged. "You're right. I was wrong. You never get over it, even if everyone says it's not your fault. Even if it isn't your fault, it just makes you dead inside."

Enme dashed to the corner and picked up the phase pistol.

"Turn it off," he said.

As he pointed the phase pistol at her, he recognized the absurdity of the action.

"Isn't this what you want?" she said.

"No," he said grabbing her arm and squeezing her with all his Romulan strength, "I don't want to die, and I don't want you to die, either."

Enme had a split second decision to make. He could attempt to shoot the controls to stop the countdown, but that might not work. Or he could try and convince Hoshi to stop the countdown.

He slammed the back of his head against the wall, and he tried to hold back tears. In just a few short days, his life had been utterly destroyed, and now it looked to be over.

"You know, my life was pretty damn good before…it was fantastic, actually, he said, "and it seems to me you've got a lot to live for. Lt. Commander Reed seems rather fond of you-"

Hoshi turned to him. His hands were shaking. He wondered if she recognized fear in him, or if she was too far gone.

"Turn it off," he said.

Tears formed in her eyes.

"The pain will stop," she said.

"So will the joy. So will the hope," he said as panic choked in his throat, fully aware of the irony in the sudden role reversal.

Hoshi brushed a tear from her eye.

"Please," said Enme, "Don't make me beg. Besides…think of your family. Think of Lt. Commander Reed…think of everyone who cares for you…you're very, very lucky to live in a society that forgives… it's a remarkable cultural trait. You should appreciate it, and take advantage of it. I'm _envious_ of it. There, I said it, I'm envious of you humans. Now, please-"

Hoshi looked at the digital countdown. There were twenty seconds to go. She looked into his grey eyes, and he saw a flicker of emotion. _Did she realize that he didn't want to die? Did she realize that at this point, she would be murdering him?_

"Are you sure?" she said blankly.

"Yes, dammit."

She tapped a button, and the countdown ceased. She closed her eyes and leaned against the console as the door opened. Instinctively, he reached over and brushed a tear from her cheek, and he thought she looked disappointed.

* * *

A few days later, Trip and T'Pol spent their last evening in Mississippi having a quiet dinner with Elaine and Charlie. Once the pecan pie had been finished and the dishes were done, the four of them retired to the front porch to enjoy after dinner drinks and the cool evening air.

"Have you seen the latest headlines, son?" asked Charlie causally.

Trip shook his head.

"I've been avoiding the news. Didn't want anything to spoil my vacation."

"An interesting story came across the wire today. It seems that Jonathan Archer has been promoted to Admiral," said Elaine.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow and glanced at Trip. She had encouraged to him to tell his parents of his promotion, but he wanted to wait until the last minute so they wouldn't have time to make a huge fuss or worse, begin to worry. Now, it seemed the media had been the one to tell Charlie and Elaine. T'Pol sipped her wine and waited.

"Did it happen to say who the new captain of the _Enterprise_ is?" said Trip, grinning.

Elaine reached over and gently smacked Trip on the arm.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was going to tonight," said Trip, "I just didn't want you guys to make a big deal about it."

Elaine looked at T'Pol.

"I thought keeping secrets was illogical," she said with a hint of playfulness in her voice, "We could have announced something at the party! Everyone would have been thrilled-"

Trip gestured a firm no.

"I got the promotion because there's a war on. It's hardly reason to celebrate," he sighed, "but I'm glad you're proud."

Charlie sighed, too, and then he lifted his glass.

"Regardless, son. We're happy for you. Congratulations," he said.

The earlier enthusiasm had drained from his voice. Trip was right about the war, and Charlie probably recognized that Trip would be under more stress and in more danger than he had been as chief engineer.

Elaine turned to T'Pol, but before she could speak, her daughter-in-law anticipated the question.

"I shall remain aboard _Enterprise_ as first officer," she said, "Starfleet believes our personal relationship will not interfere with ship operations."

"Thank goodness for that," said Elaine,"I'd hate to see you two separated."

"Starfleet knew we wouldn't stay if we were to be separated," replied T'Pol, "So, they will station us together."

"Wise decision," said Charlie, "Do you two know where you'll go next? What part of space?"

Trip shook his head.

"We'll be part of Jonathan's new fleet, but where we'll be going will probably depend on the Romulans."

"Who are these people? What to they want? Why have they been attacking? The press just seems to print speculation," said Elaine.

Trip and T'Pol again looked at each other. She knew it bothered him how much they were forbidden to say.

"They come from the Beta Quadrant. They have an empire. I guess there are no more worlds to conquer there, and they are coming after us. The best guess is they need more resources, more energy, more labor."

Charlie took a long drink from his beer.

"They're fools. I never thought anything would unite this quadrant. Now it seems Vulcans and Andorians and Humans and Tellarites all can agree on one thing. We've got to stop these Romulans."

"We will stop them," said Trip, "Our position is a defensive one, so we've got the advantage. It's not gonna to be easy, but we will win."

T'Pol could sense that Trip was verbalizing this as much for his own benefit as his parents. She didn't like the unsettled nature of his thoughts, so she resolved to change the subject. They were leaving for Ireland in the morning.

"Again, I would like to thank you both for your hospitality and for welcoming me to into your family."

Elaine reached over and hugged T'Pol.

"You keep an eye on my boy," she said, "Make sure he comes back in one piece."

T'Pol squeezed back, as she knew that is what a human would expect.

"I shall do my best to honor that request," she said.

* * *

Malcolm sat in his office watching the security video for the fourth time. It had been only that morning that it had been uploaded to him with the Romulan translations. He hadn't been certain what to expect, but he was certainly not expecting what he saw.

The Romulan had talked Hoshi out of throwing them both out the airlock; at least, that was what the UT's translation seemed to indicate. Normally, procedure would be to have it manually translated but the only human who spoke Romulan was Hoshi, and she had given only the thinest of details about the incident in the airlock.

For that, Malcolm was furious with her. And now, he was also terrified for her. Mostly, however, he was enraged with himself. He knew she had been bottling up her emotions, and he knew that she was dealing with - something. But in his mind he had made that something all about himself or about Enme. He now realized that whatever was going on in her head had little to do with either men.

Malcolm wasn't a psychologist, but he found himself looking up various definitions of and treatments for post traumatic stress disorder.

He stood up, and he walked intently through the halls until he found himself at the door of Enme's quarters.

He was one of the few people who had clearance to see the prisoner, whom he found at the desk reading from a PADD. At his own request, Enme had been provided with some works of human literature in translation.

"Hello, Lieutenant. Commander Reed," said Enme, "I've been expecting you. I assume you've finally gotten a look at the security video from the airlock."

Reed pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Your girlfriend nearly killed me," said Enme.

"You asked her to," said Reed.

Enme sat back.

"Excellent point, Commander."

"How serious was she? Was she really going to-? You saw the look in her eyes, tell me the truth."

Enme held up the PADD.

"I was just reading an English language poem called 'Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night,'" he said, "It's about savoring every moment of life, no matter how close one's death or how much pain one is in."

"I've read it," said Malcolm.

"You ought to give it to Hoshi," said Enme.

That was all Malcolm needed to hear, and he got up and headed for the door. Before he left, he turned back to the prisoner.

"Thank you," he said, "I owe you for saving her life."

Enme said nothing.

* * *

T'Pol stared at the man who sat across from her in the wooden booth of a cozy Irish Pub in the Temple Bar neighborhood of Dublin. His resemblance to Trip was remarkable. She estimated he was about a half-an inch shorter, with a wider nose and a longer jaw, but anyone who saw them side by side would realize they were brothers. There were other differences between the two besides the natural ones. Albert's hair, the same color as Trip's, was shoulder length, and he wore a dapper tweed suit that T'Pol knew Trip would not have been caught dead wearing. She also noticed that Albert's hands, with which he grasped a pint of Guinness, were not only un-calloused but manicured.

The pub, which had stone walls and low ceilings with wooden rafters, wasn't very crowded. A few older men sat at the bar, and a couple of students occupied another booth. T'Pol took a drink of her own Guinness, and she set the glass down.

"It's an acquired taste," said Bert who had not lost his drawl after years in Dublin, "and you don't have to acquire it."

"No visit to Dublin is complete without a pint," said Trip, hoisting his own pint of the bitter, dark liquid.

"This beverage was used as meal replacement for the poor, was it not?" said T'Pol.

"It's like drinking a loaf of bread," said Bert, "but really, we can get you some tea or cider."

T'Pol locked eyes with her brother-in-law and saw some of Trip's mischief there.

"That will not be necessary," she stated, "I would like my visit to Dublin to be complete."

T'Pol shivered. Her civilian clothes didn't protect her from Earth temperatures the way her Starfleet uniform did. Unlike Mississippi, which was hot and humid, Ireland proved to be cool and damp. A drizzle had driven them inside the pub as they walked to Bert and Ian's apartment from the transport station.

Their bags would be delivered to the building later in the day. Bert and Ian's son, Thomas, would not return from school for another two hours. Ian would return home an hour after that.

Trip took his jacket off and put it around T'Pol's shoulders.

"We'll have to get you one of the famous Irish sweaters while you're here," said Bert.

T'Pol blinked. She had seen sheep before, and she wasn't at all certain a garment made from their wool would be comfortable.

"T'Pol prefers silk," said Trip, "I'm pretty sure she's got every kind of silk from this quadrant represented in her civilian wardrobe - Vulcan, Triaxian, Tholian, Terran, even Andorian. Come to think of it, how did you come by that Andorian silk dress, given the hostility between your two races?"

"It was for sale at a Tellarite market," replied T'Pol. "Considering the temperature, I might be willing to try a cashmere garment."

"That would be cheating," said Bert, playfully, "Since cashmere goats aren't native to this island. But I can find you a terrific Donegal tweed jacket. It will match your eyes."

"That would be agreeable," replied T'Pol.

"So, Captain," said Bert, "What can you tell me about this war the news has been talking about? Do you think these Romulans will make it this far into the quadrant? Are we in danger?"

Trip drank his pint, slowly.

"I wouldn't bet against them getting at least a few ships this far," he said, "but thanks to the Alliance, I think we're in a pretty good defensive position."

Bert sipped on his pint in much the same way as his brother.

"After the Xindi, I thought things would settle down, that we'd have some quiet. We sure were spoiled as kids, weren't we? Not a care in the world."

"Nobody ever wrote any good novels or made any good movies about that era," replied Trip, "They had to go back to World War III to find the prerequisite angst. I hear a novel about the Xindi attack won the Mann Booker Prize this year. You ought to have Ian start one on the Romulan War, he'll be a shoe-in."

Bert smiled. His husband was a professor of literature at Trinity College, and he had written several critically acclaimed novels that no one had read.

"You, Lizzie and I didn't have a clue how lucky were were," said Bert ruefully, "Now Tommy looks up to the sky and feels fear instead of wonder. It's a damn shame."

T'Pol reached under the table and slipped her hand into Trip's, and she felt a terrible sadness in him over his nephew's fears.

"Perhaps Trip can talk to him," said T'Pol, "as we have seen some truly fascinating and aesthetically pleasing things during our travels. It would be incorrect for him to believe that outer worlds hold only danger."

Bert smiled.

"That's why I'm so glad you're here, T'Pol," said Bert, "so Tommy can see that Earth has many friends out there in the galaxy, including your people."

"I am honored," said T'Pol, "and I will be happy to tell the boy anything he wishes about Vulcan."

T'Pol looked out the window, and she noticed it was no longer drizzling. It was pouring down rain.

"At least you're getting typical Dublin weather," said Bert, "but no rain, no rainbows. Now, we might just see a rainbow on the walk home. Until then, I think we have time for another round. This time, I'll order you tea, T'Pol."

* * *

Malcolm rang the chime on Hoshi's door.

"Come in," said Hoshi cheerfully.

He entered her quarters and saw her in her civilian clothes — a flowered dress and heels. She looked beautiful.

"I thought we were going to go somewhere nicer than the mess," she said, noticing he was still in his uniform, "There's a Brazilian place on deck ten. I want to try it."

"We can go there," said Malcolm, "we can go wherever you like."

Malcolm was the only person besides Hoshi and Enme who knew what had transpired in the turbolift, and clearly, she didn't know that he knew.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine," she said, "Like I said earlier, there's no need to make a big deal about the other day. I've been through worse. Lots worse."

Malcolm walked over and sat down on the bed. He gestured for her to join him. She did, and while she was at it, she cuddled up next to him. She leaned up to kiss him, but he spoke first.

"So, you haven't had the urge to throw yourself out the airlock?"

She stiffened in his arms.

"I…I was only trying to get him to…"

"I saw the tape with a translation, and I talked to him. He thought you were serious."

She looked up at him and she seemed ready for a fight. But after a moment, the denial on her lips disappeared, and he saw tears forming.

"It's all right," he said.

She shook her head no, and he gently wiped away the tears.

"There are lots of ways to get better from this," he continued, "I've been researching it. I'm not an expert by any means, but I'm not going anywhere. And we'll find you an expert to talk to first thing in the morning. No one else will have to know."

She seemed as though she wanted to argue with him, but she didn't say a word. She settled back into his arms, and he felt her relax.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Good," he said, "and maybe in a little while, we can head down to that Brazilian place, if you're feeling up to it."

She nodded, still silent. He took a deep breath, and he hoped he'd be able to help her. This wasn't about his own pride anymore. He realized that he couldn't stand the idea of her in pain, and he'd do just about anything to help her. Even if it meant losing her.


	21. Chapter 21

_Disclaimer: Don't Own, Not Mine_

_Rating: PG-13ish._

The ProConsul felt Ravel's eyes on him as he read her report. From her body language, he had assumed the report contained good news, and he was right.

"So, she survived somehow and was taken from the planet by her human companions" he asked, "After the explosion?"

"Our sources indicate that. We didn't learn of her survival until _Enterprise_ returned to the Sol System. The ship's captain has been promoted to Admiral, and T'Pol's husband is the new captain."

The ProConsul wasn't surprised by this. He had been impressed by T'Pol's husband, despite the reports he had gotten about humans. He thought Earth would make a fine addition to the Empire, once broken, but he also had come to believe they would not be so easy to break - especially after meeting Captain Tucker. The other members of the High Council had scoffed at his warnings, assuming the upcoming conflict would be over quickly.

"What about my son?" he asked.

"We have no report of him, one way or another," said Ravel, "but if your daughter survived, it's possible that your son may have been with her. If so, it would be reasonable to assume he had been taken prisoner by the people who retrieved her from the planet."

The ProConsul felt an unusual mixture of hope and fear. He hoped his son was alive, but if he was, he feared that Enme was a prisoner of the humans. As such, he might as well be dead.

"We have very few intelligence sources on Earth," she said, "and none have reported anything about a Romulan prisoner, but I'll keep seeking more information."

"Do that," said the ProConsul.

****

Bert and Ian lived in a spacious, garden apartment tucked away on a cobblestoned side street. Paper books lined the walls in wooden shelves, sharing space with Tommy's football trophies and some family photos. T'Pol noticed one of Trip, Bert and Lizzie when they were university age.

"Tell me, Bert," she said, "How is it that you weren't named Charles Tucker III, since you are the oldest boy?"

Bert laughed.

"I get asked that now and then," he said, "My mother's grandfather Albert died the week I was born, so I was named for him. Our dad insisted. Then, when Trip was born, our mom insisted he be Charles Tucker III."

T'Pol examined the photograph.

"That was taken at Lizzie's graduation from Carnegie Mellon," said Bert.

The front door flew open, and a red-headed adolescent boy bounded into the living room. He was dressed in a school uniform, with a long striped scarf. His hair was damp, and his shoes were muddy.

"Heya, Kid," said Trip, hugging the boy briefly as he squirmed but grinned.

"Hi, Uncle Trip," said Tommy.

Bert folded his arms.

"Shoes?"

Tommy nodded, and he leaned over and removed his shoes and took them to the mat by the door. Trip gestured to T'Pol.

"This is your Aunt T'Pol," said Trip.

"Hello," said Tommy, not meeting her eyes, "Is Da home?"

"Not yet," said Bert.

Bert was Dad and Ian was Da.

"I hear you have a game tomorrow," said Trip, "What do you say to having your American Uncle there to cheer you on?"

"I thought you only played American-Style Football." said Tommy.

"I know the rules of your kind of football," said Trip, "I think I'll be able to follow. I hear you're developing into quite a defensive player."

Tommy smiled shyly at this.

"He's the best in his league. The upper division coaches are already sniffing around. So, T'Pol," said Bert, "Would you be up for watching a match tomorrow? I don't know if they have anything like football on Vulcan."

T'Pol turned to Bert.

"Ball sports are common in most humanoid cultures," she said, "and we have several similar sports. But I would be interested in watching the young men play this game that is so popular here on Earth."

"Tommy," said Bert, "go get cleaned up. I'm making a special dinner tonight."

Tommy raced off to his room.

"He appears to be a fine boy," said T'Pol, "You must be proud."

"We are," said Bert, "I sometimes wish he'd spend more time on his studies than on sport, but at least he's interested in something. And very good at it. By the way, did you know Trip played American-Style Football in college?"

T'Pol turned to her husband.

"No," she said.

"Just for one season," he said, "and it was at Starfleet Academy. It was a new school that was hardly a Big Ten. We did cream Stanford one time, though."

"You shall have to tell me the story," said T'Pol.

****

Malcolm and Hoshi dined at a classic French Bistro that had a great view of Europa, with the other moons in the distance. Hoshi was mostly quiet.

"You don't have to tell me," he said, "but how did it go with the doctor?"

"He's not a doctor, he's a psychologist," said Hoshi, "A Phd. I have a Phd."

Malcolm took a sip of his lobster bisque. Her answer didn't sound promising.

"It's not in clinical psychology," he replied.

"True," she said, "It was fine. I told him all about the incident in the airlock, and he said I have PTSD, which you already thought just by looking stuff up in the database."

"Do you think he can help you? We can always find someone else. There are a few more shrinks on the station. . ."

Hoshi had also ordered the lobster bisque, and she sipped on hers.

"No," she said, her voice softening, "It'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" he replied, an edge to his voice.

For months, she had insisted she was fine when she wasn't fine. He wasn't going to let her deflect him. He couldn't live with himself if something happened to her.

"He's a smart guy. He wants to see me everyday until we're redeployed, so that I'll be on my way to recovery by then. He doesn't think I need medication, just some heavy talk-therapy."

She paused, but he sensed she had more to say.

"Sometimes the sessions are designed to have a family member or significant other attend. . .my parents are on Earth and they don't put much stock in psychology anyway. . .could you. . . maybe?"

"I'd be happy to. . .we agreed right. We're both in this. So you need just tell me where and when."

Hoshi smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it seemed genuine.

"So what do you think it's going to be like with Trip in the big chair?" she asked.

Malcolm smiled at that.

"There was a time when I never thought I'd say this, but I am going to miss Archer. But Trip has always done well in the big chair. I trust him."

Hoshi nodded.

"It's not like we won't see _Admiral_ Archer, we'll be in his fleet."

"I do wonder how it will be to have the first officer and captain married to each other. Starfleet must trust them a whole lot," said Malcolm.

"I don't think they'd ever let two humans be in those positions. But T'Pol being a Vulcan, they trust her to not let her emotions interfere with their work."

"You think so?" said Malcolm, "I suppose that could be true."

The conversation gradually turned to the war, their colleagues and what lay ahead. It felt very normal, and that felt like a first step of many that were yet to come.

****

The next morning, T'Pol rose early and began meditating in the sun-bathed garden. Trip and Bert had stayed up very late talking, and she and Ian had both retired early to give them a chance to catch up. Consequently, Trip was still sleeping when made her way into the garden.

She had been there a good while when she opened her eyes. She heard someone behind her.

"Tommy?" she asked without turning around.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I have a strong sense or hearing," she said, "and your footsteps are lighter than the adults in the house."

She was seated on a garden bench, and he came and sat next to her.

"You're the first alien I've ever met. I've seen a couple in the streets," he said, "but I've never met one."

"It can be gratifying to meet other species," she said, "It helps open your mind to new possibilities."

Tommy looked over his shoulder.

"You shouldn't come to the game," he said in a whisper.

"Why not?"

Tommy took a deep breath.

"Last year, when the thing happened to you and Uncle Trip. The thing with Terra Prime. Some of the boys on my team said Uncle Trip deserved it because shagging an alien is sick and wrong. . .and that it was better that your baby had died because she was. . .a freak."

T'Pol said nothing.

"I'm not telling you to upset you," continued Tommy.

"I'm not capable of feeling upset, Tommy," she said, "I'm a Vulcan."

"But Uncle Trip _is_ capable of being upset. Some of the other boys on my team are real wankers. . .and if one of them said anything to you, it would upset him and then Dad would get involved and it would. . .turn into a bloody interplanetary incident."

"You are thoughtful to worry about your Uncle Trip's feelings."

Tommy didn't respond, he just kicked the ground with his shoe.

"May I ask if you are upset he married a Vulcan?"

Tommy wrinkled his brow, and he spoke very slowly.

"No. . .it's just that people . . .people can be wankers, that's all. I don't want Uncle Trip to have to be dealing with them all the time. Or you for that matter. You seem nice. Dad said he was sure that you must be the prettiest Vulcan ever or Trip wouldn't have married you."

"I hope Trip married me for reasons beyond my appearance. You should also know our crewmates have been very accepting of our marriage, as have many of my people. Not all of them. But we have been gratified by those who have. "

Tommy said nothing. T'Pol reached over to a bag she had with her and pulled out her PADD.

"This morning I received a report from Ambassador Soval. I should very much like some quiet time to review the document, which is 10,728 Vulcan words long. I believe I will read it while your uncle and fathers attend your football match."

Tommy looked at her skeptically.

"You really don't want to go?"

"I do wish to attend, but I'm afraid my work takes priority."

Tommy's face softened, and he appeared to relax. They sat in quiet for a long while.

"Uncle Trip says you're really good at organic chemistry."

T'Pol nodded.

"Maybe after the game you could help me study. I've got an exam next week . . . "

"I would be happy to Tommy," she said.

****

That night as Trip and T'Pol prepared for bed in the small, cozy guest room, she spoke to him in a whisper.

"Vulcan Intelligence and Starfleet Intelligence have been given clearance to attempt background negotiations with the Romulans."

Trip leaned forward.

"That was what was in your report?"

She nodded.

"They wish for us to return to Jupiter Station by Monday. They intend to use my brother as a conduit to the Romulan government. I have been asked to help facilitate the contact."

She showed him the PADD, which contained the Vulcan text. He had acquired a basic familiarity of the language and could read the pertinent passages.

"I think it's a waste of time. Romulans seem more stubborn than Vulcans. I don't think he'll cooperate," he said.

"An incident occurred recently," she said, "My brother escaped and apparently planned to commit suicide. Romulan culture dictates this of prisoners, but he did not complete the act."

Trip took a deep breath.

"They think he's softening?"

"We shall see. No one believes the chances for negotiation are good, but given the possible consequences of this war, all of the allies believe we must try."

Trip hated the idea of cutting their vacation short, but he saw the need. He also found himself a little nervous to be returning to the ship as its captain.

"I guess the whole crew knows I'm the new captain," he said, "Malcolm sent me a congratulatory text."

"They trust you, and they will follow you as they did Archer," she said soothingly.

Trip slid under the big, white comforter, and he beckoned her to join him.

"I hope so. . .this cool Irish air isn't bothering you?"

"No," she said, snuggling next to him.

"It's bothering me. I don't know how Bert adjusted to this having grown up in Florida."

"It is unusual for me, but I have visited many environments and have learned to adjust."

"Well," he said, "Reason number #122 that I love you. Your high body temperature. You make an excellent bedwarmer, in addition to being a great wife."

She blinked at him, and he sensed her puzzlement at being compared to an inanimate object. He assuaged this by kissing her on the cheek and taking her into his arms under the big, fluffy comforter.

"Sorry you missed the game," he said as he drifted off to sleep, "Tommy's team is really something."

"Hopefully next time we visit," she whispered, "It will be possible for me to attend."


	22. Chapter 22

Maleek of Romulus fidgeted nervously in his chair as he waited to see the ProConsul. He had been slightly nauseated ever since he had received the missive from Ston's father about the incident on the space station with Ston's sister and the humans. The man wanted to know what happened, and Maleek knew he wasn't going to be happy.

He heard footsteps. First, a pair of Remans appeared in the grand doorway and then came Ston's father, a stern and impressive man if there ever was one. Behind him was an attractive woman in an Imperial Guard uniform.

Maleek stood up, ready to tell the whole, awful truth — a truth that very well might condemn his old friend Ston to death.

_Better him than me_, thought Maleek like a good Romulan.

"The first thing I need to ask you," said the ProConsul, "is which of my sons gave the humans a dilithium sample. Which one?"

Maleek had decided on the truth, come what may.

"Ston did. Enme had nothing to do with it."

The ProConsul nodded.

"Tell me everything, now," he said.

Maleek began, sparing no details.

* * *

_Enterprise_ was empty. The few members of the crew who weren't on Earth had been billeted on Jupiter Station during the refit and upgrades. Now, the work was complete, and no one, not even a stray maintenance worker remained aboard. The first person to step aboard was to be her new captain, followed by his Vulcan first officer.

"Is it okay to admit I feel like Archer should be here?" said Trip.

"It is to be expected, Captain," she replied, "but soon enough you will learn to think of _Enterprise_ as your ship. You always thought of the engines as such, you need only extend the sentiment."

"You know," said Trip, "I'm going to miss engineering. I'm sure Hess will take good care of the engines. But promise if you ever see me trying to do her job, stop me."

"I shall consider that an order, Captain," replied T'Pol as they reached the bridge.

Trip approached the the captain's chair, but he didn't sit down. He looked back at T'Pol who had taken her place at the science station.

"You've sat there before, Captain,"

"Yes," he said, "but never as the official captain. And never with you there watching me."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Shall I leave?"

Trip smiled at her.

"No."

He sat down.

"It doesn't feel any different," he said.

"Of course not," she said, "It's the same chair that has always been there. Of course, you could readjust it for your height."

Trip sat back, amused at her literal Vulcan mind.

"I might do that. When are you meeting Malcolm and the Section 31 spooks, again?"

"The first briefing will occur at 0800 tomorrow. Only Lt. Commander Reed, Ensign Sato and representatives from Tellarite and Andorian intelligence will be there. Even Admiral Archer will not attend."

"Glad to see I'm not the only one who wasn't invited…I hear our things have been moved into the newly expanded captain's quarters. Shall we take a look?"

"Yes, Captain."

Trip got out of the chair, and T'Pol followed him, hands behind her back.

"You wouldn't consider calling me Trip when no one is around, would you?"

"Not while we are on duty or in non-personal space. Once inside our new quarters, I will call you Trip if it will make you happy, Captain."

"It'll make me happy, dar…Commander."

* * *

"Maybe I should ask Phlox if one of his creatures can cure PTSD," said Hoshi, "That was exhausting."

They had just reached Malcolm's quarters after spending two hours with the therapist. His methodology was to have Hoshi spend an hour reliving the events with the Xindi while he and Malcolm listened, then they spent an hour talking about what kinds of experiences triggered memories of those events. Malcolm had been there to provide the support a clinician simply could not. He had been very impressed at how cooperative Hoshi had been during the process, and he felt that she was making real progress, though he wan't an expert.

"Care to come in, luv?"

"I was hoping you'd ask," she said.

They entered together, and she sat down at the little table in front of the window. It had a view of _Enterprise_ as she was docked.

"I'll make you some tea," he said. "I've got Vulcan, Japanese and British varieties. Take your pick."

"Vulcan," she replied. "I don't want any caffeine. I want to sleep well for tomorrow."

"I'm glad you are feeling up to it. But if you feel like you can't handle it, we'll use the UT."

"I'm the only person in this system besides Enme who speaks Romulan. It's my job to be there. Besides, I think I might be able to help. He clearly likes me, and I might be able to convince him to help us."

Malcolm felt a twinge of insecurity but then pushed it aside as he poured boiling water into his teapot. She was with him, not the Romulan. He glanced at Hoshi out of the corner of his eye. She appeared oblivious to his jealously — probably because he had no reason to be jealous.

"I don't want you to do anything that will-" he stopped.

She stood up and moved to stand next to him.

"I'll do anything to help. If it means opening up negotiations, if it means possibly ending this conflict…then my mental state has to come second. You know that. But really, I will be fine."

Malcolm stared at her.

"You would do the same, and I don't think you'd love me as much if I weren't willing to put myself in harm's way for the greater good. That's what we do. It's our job."

"I do love you," he said, leaning over and kissing her.

"And I love you," she whispered into the kiss.

He pulled back.

"I mean it," she said, "Nobody's ever stuck by me the way you have. Nobody's ever…I love you, all right?"

Malcolm bit his lip. The second time, he started to believe it.

He pulled her into a far harder and more passionate kiss, and soon their hands found the zippers of their uniforms, which they wiggled out of in record time. He carried her to his bed and laid her gently down. Before joining her, he took one of her tiny feet and began massaging it.

"How many different languages can you say it in?"

She had to think about it for a moment.

"Forty-seven. I think. Maybe forty-six. I'm not sure the Axinars have a word for love in the way we understand it."

"Forty-six," he replied. "That's a lot. I plan to make you say it in all of them."

He crawled up on the bed and began planting kisses up her legs and to her inner thighs.

"How are you going to make me?"

"I have some ideas," he said.

* * *

Trip sprawled on the big bed in their new quarters and looked out the expansive window. Instead of his cramped office in engineering, he now had a ready room, spacious quarters and his own private mess.

"This is way better than the two bunks they pushed together to make our old bed."

"It's a new mattress," remarked T'Pol who was looking around at what were her new quarters, as well. "The old one smelled of the Admiral's beagle."

"Archer had a dog. I have a wife," he said patting the bed. "I think I'm the luckier captain. Hey, how do you know what the captain's bed smelled like?"

Even just a few months earlier, she would have been dismayed by an implication that she had been unfaithful to her bondmate, but she recognized the teasing nature of the question. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I could smell Porthos's scent from the door," she replied smoothly.

Trip sometimes liked to bring up a potential attraction between her and Archer just so he could sense the lack-of-attraction that would course through her mind. Archer may have been the superior officer and great hero of the Xindi conflict, but the lowly chief engineer had won the heart of the first officer. It was an uneven exchange, with himself getting the better bargain.

"I always envied the captain that shower," said Trip, "now it's my shower. _Our_ shower."

T'Pol stood up and opened the bathroom door wide.

"It's much more spacious than the shower in our previous quarters," said T'Pol.

"We did make good use of our old one," replied Trip. "I'm going to miss it."

"It is illogical to miss a shower," she said.

"I guess we'll just have to make new memories in this one," he said, getting up on his elbows.

"Is that an order, Captain?"

"I thought I told you to call me Trip when we were in our quarters," he said, "but yes, let's consider the shower thing an order."

T"Pol unzipped the front of her uniform and carefully removed it. She hung it on a hanger in the small closet, and then removed the bottom portion of the uniform and her boots, putting them away as well. She stood in her grey, Starfleet-issue underwear for a moment before she strode into the bathroom and set the shower control for Vulcan body temperature plus 5 percent. She then stood at her Vulcan at-ease posture.

"Any more orders, Captain?"

Trip stood up and joined her in the bathroom.

"Take my uniform off," he said, effecting his best captain's tone.

She obeyed, unzipping his jumpsuit and gracefully removing the garment before hanging it next to hers. The temperature in the room was set for human comfort, and Trip noticed that her nipples had become hard in the chill.

"Anything else, Captain?"

Trip ran his hand down her arms and then slowly across the top of her chest. The steam from the shower was filling the room.

"I'm going to have to handle the next step myself," he said as he pulled off her top.

He then reached down and cupped her face in his hands and kissed her very deeply. Their tongues danced for a long while, and then he broke the kiss so he could remove her bottoms as well. He then pulled off his Starfleet blues.

"Now," he said, "turn around and get under the water."

She followed his command, but she looked back at him.

"Did I say you could turn around, Commander?"

She raised an eyebrow, but she again faced the tiled wall. Trip came up behind her so he too was under the warm water. He squirted some soap from the dispenser into his hand and rubbed his hands together to create a lather.

"Hands on the wall, Commander. And spread you legs wider."

She obeyed, and he slowly began to massage her back, applying pressure to the neural nodes he was so familiar with. Then, he moved down to her glutes and the back of her thighs, then back up to her back. He knew of one very sensitive neural node on her lower back. He pressed there, and she moaned and placed her head against the cool tile. As she did so, her rear end stuck out further and he took the opportunity to slide his hand down the crack and between her legs. He slipped a finger insider her and then two.

She writhed with pleasure as he stroked her, her eyes shut and her breathing erratic. He had wanted to draw this out, but the sight of her was too tempting. He removed his fingers, and she made a small noise in protest.

"Somethin' wrong, Commander?"

She took a deep breath.

"No…sir," she whispered.

"You must always be honest with your captain. Any requests you'd like to make? I'm going to make it a point to try and accommodate the needs of my senior officers."

He grinned. Pure Vulcan irritation coursed through her mind.

"I wish to engage in sexual relations, Captain. Immediately."

He positioned himself behind her, and he pushed inside her. As many times as he felt it, he always gasped at the heat of her body. When he had gone as far as he could go, he whispered in her ear.

"All you had to do was ask," he said, then he gently bit the pointed tip.

She shivered and leaned further against the wall as he began to thrust. He reached around her body, caressing her with skilled fingers. When she came, she cried out something in her native language and nearly collapsed. He supported her with his strong arms as he climaxed into her. He pressed them both against the cool tile as the water washed over them in their mutual delirium.

A few minutes later, they had finished the bathing portion of the shower, and Trip dashed to the closet to retrieve a couple towels, making a mental note to remember them the next time. T'Pol turned off the water and he dried her off and wrapped her up.

"Thank you, Captain."

"You can call me, Trip now," he said, his voice casual.

"Thank you, Trip," she said, drying him off, "We shall not make a habit of bringing our ranks into our quarters."

He saw a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Nah," he said, "but once and awhile …"

"That would not be disagreeable," she said, "but remember, you promised to let me give the orders now and then. At least, when we're alone."

She kissed him lightly, and there was a mischievous promise in her eyes.

"A deal's a deal, baby," he said as he gathered her up in his arms and placed her on their bed.

He crawled up next to her and kissed her slowly. His face turned serious.

"I don't think I'd be able to do this without you," he said, "especially with all the trouble ahead."

She caressed his face, and the true confidence she had in him entered his mind. He closed his eyes.

"Don't underestimate yourself, _Thy'la_," she said, "you are the only person who could have replaced Jonathan Archer as captain of this vessel. He knows that. I know that. You must trust in that."

He held her close, and they both looked out at the stars for a long while. Then, they redressed in their uniforms, planning on returning to the station for dinner.

Before they left, Trip looked at himself in the mirror, taking special notice of the gold stripe and the new pip. The insecurity that had gripped him since his promotion faded away, and he knew that this was his vessel, his crew and his command. He was captain.


	23. Chapter 23

_Disclaimer: Don't own._

_Rating: PG-13_

_A/N: And the plot moves forth._

T'Pol sat across the table from her brother, plotting her next move on the chess board. What Enme didn't know what that outside his quarters were representatives from all the allies's intelligence services. She had been sent in to gauge his mood. It wasn't long before he became transparent, in his Romulan way.

"Brother," she said, "it seems you have made a suicidal move. You've left your queen wide open. I will be able to checkmate you in nine moves, a fact that I believe you must know."

Enme sighed.

"I'm merely bored with the game, sister," said Enme, "Perhaps you could teach me another one. One that takes less than hours to complete the play. My people are not known for their patience."

T'Pol sat back in her chair.

"It is strange, that we are the same species. Vulcans are perhaps most known for their patience."

Enme began cleaning up the pieces of the chess board. After a long silence, T'Pol spoke again.

"Would you be willing to help us open background negotiations with your people?"

Enme sighed.

"I'm not in a position to do so," he said, "I'm supposed to be dead. Surely you've had a report of that."

"But you are not dead. This would indicate that things are not always as they are supposed to be among your people."

Enme stood up and looked out the window. He stood in silence for a long while. Then, he knelt down and took of one of his polished boots. He put it on the table.

"Do you have something I could pry the heel off with? I'm no longer even allowed a butter knife."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. She stood up and left her brother's prison-quarters for a moment and returned with a flat screwdriver. Enme took it from her and pried open the shoe. From a compartment in the heel fell a ring much like the one her father had given her — only this one was designed for a man.

"A ring like this is out of uniform," he said, "So I've kept it hidden."

"He didn't tell me what it does."

"It's a kind of subspace communicator. It allows one to talk to him, where ever he is. For a brief time. The link drains the power, rendering the device useless."

"Will you use this to communicate with him?"

"You have one of these, am I right?"

She nodded.

"That means you have two chances to contact him. I can't do it. He'd consider that. . .weak of me. In fact, you must make it clear to him that I am being kept alive against my will. That might make him amenable to discussions about my well-being. But beyond that. I can't help you."

Enme pushed his ring toward her.

"This is no good to me now, sister."

"Why are you giving this to me?"

Enme shrugged.

"It seems I don't want to die. If the Empire conquers Earth. I'll be dead."

****

In the crowded transport station, Maleek of Romulus was waiting for a transport ship to take him back to his small apartment on the eastern continent. He was very happy that he had told the ProConsul the truth, and that he would be done with that miserable family. He would be content to return to the life of a merchant, with no association with the aristocracy.

He looked at the chronometer. He had only an hour to wait.

Suddenly, in the rush of the crowded station, Maleek felt a prick on the back of his neck. Before he could even reach up to where the pain was, his breathing became labored. He only reached his hand halfway up his neck when it became paralyzed. He moved his eyes to the left, and he saw a young girl standing there, watching him. She was fidgeting with a needle in her hand.

The last thing Maleek saw was Bala smile and then put one hand gently on her stomach. Then it was dark.

****

T'Pol briefed the alliance intelligence agents about her contact with her brother, but she left out one key detail. She showed them her brother's ring, but she omitted the fact that she had another one in her quarters. Her years of intelligence training had taught her that having a backup of something wasn't something you shared with your superiors or allies unless absolutely necessary. Only Hoshi, who was listening from the next room, would be privy to that fact, and T'Pol resolved to attempt to convince her to keep the secret for her. Hoshi would be expected to provide a transcript of T'Pol's conversation with her brother but it was standard practice for some portions of the conversation to be redacted.

Another piece of information that would be redacted was her relationship to the prisoner. Starfleet and Section 31 knew, and the V'Shar knew, but the Andorians and Tellarites did not. T'Pol was glad that it was not widely known that she was half-Romulan.

When all but Malcolm and Hoshi had left, T'Pol felt she could relax somewhat.

Malcolm looked down at the ring.

"This is amazing," he said, "We can contact a high ranking member of the Romulan government."

"The prisoner advises us to us it directly, using him as a kind of . . .leverage. He claims however, if he appears to cooperate, it will neutralize that benefit."

Hoshi, who had been monitoring the communications between T'Pol and her brother from the next room, looked down at the ring in fascination. As a communications officer, she had never seen anything so small that could function as a subspace communicator.

"And you have one of these as well?"

T'Pol nodded.

"Thank you for not enlightening the others of that fact. The second ring might prove useful."

Malcolm sighed.

"Section 31 doesn't know about the second ring, do they?"

T'Pol shook her head.

"Admiral Archer knows, Captain Tucker knows and now you both know."

"The brass wants to be in on any contact with the Romulans you make," said Malcolm, "They've assigned Admiral Archer as the point person."

T'Pol nodded.

"He'll probably want to proceed immediately, as the fleet will be leaving the Sol System within two weeks."

None of them needed to say what they were all thinking, that the likelihood of any background negotiations succeeding were slim to none.

****

Trip was in his Ready Room, reading some mind-numbingly boring reports. He thought engineering requisitions and reports were dull. Now, he had a PADD full of reports from every corner of the ship. T'Pol was responsible for organizing and writing the abstracts for most of them, but as Captain, he still had to be aware of 100x more information than he had as chief engineer.

He could at least be grateful that once the the ship left Jupiter Station, the requisitions would become much shorter.

The comm buzzed. The light indicated it was an ultra-secure frequency.

"This is Captain Tucker," he said.

"Good to hear your voice, Trip" said Admiral Archer.

"You too, Admiral" he said, "I assume, though, this isn't a social call?"

"Nope. I'm keeping you in the loop. Starfleet Intelligence and Section 31 have made an unusual request of your XO."

"What?"

"They want her to make contact with the Romulan Star Empire. She's going to do so this afternoon. I'll want you at the debriefing at 1500 hours. Conference Room 11B on the station. I'll be there. But this is strictly an Earth operation for now. So it's going to be you, me, Malcolm and Hoshi."

_Just like old times_, thought Trip.

"I'll see you then, Admiral," said Trip formally.

Archer nodded.

"Archer out."

Trip exhaled. This wasn't going to be easy for T'Pol, but he trusted that she would handle the situation.

****

T'Pol stared down at her brother's ring. She was alone in a conference room that was equipped with high-tech listening devices. Hoshi would be monitoring and translating from the next room, and T'Pol had decided to speak with her father in Vulcan, as she knew he spoke that language like a native.

She activated the device. It began to glow and hum, but it did not do more than that for precisely 35 minutes.

Then, burst of light came from the ring, and a shadowy hologram appeared. Though not the best quality, she recognized her father's image.

"I was not expecting you, dear one," he said, "I was expecting my son, Enme. Is he dead?"

"No," she said, "He is a prisoner of the alliance."

"On Vulcan? Or Earth? Or perhaps Andoria or Teller?"

T'Pol blinked. Clearly, he did not have the capacity to pinpoint her location.

"I cannot reveal that, but he is alive. He is being treated well, despite his uncooperative nature."

Relief washed over the ProConsul's face.

"Has he tried to take his own life?"

"Yes," she said, "it was prevented."

"Why are you contacting me?"

"The Alliance wishes to open negotiations. If you would assist us, we would be willing to return your son to you."

"Do you know so little of us? We don't negotiate. We conquer."

"The humans have a saying, there's a first time for everything. You must know that this quadrant has been united like nothing in its history against your people. We will prevent your invasion. Even if you don't believe that, you know Vulcans well enough to know that I believe that we will. Vulcans are not known for self-delusion."

The ProConsul was silent for a moment.

"There are limits to my power, daughter."

"We are only asking you to open negotiations. Enme's return would not be predicated on the outcome of those negotiations."

The PronConsul thought some more.

"I've recently made an alliance with another family, one with several seats in both the senate and our high council. I'm also sitting on information that might make them uncomfortable if it were revealed. I might be able to persuade them to support negotiations. Do you still have the ring I gave you?"

T'Pol nodded.

"In three days time, contact me again. We shall proceed. Goodbye, dear one."

*****

Late that night, Trip and T'Pol returned to Enterprise after the long meeting. They had moved from Jupiter Station to the ship, though they were still the only members of the crew living aboard. Everyone else had chosen to enjoy the benefits of the station while they still could. But as Captain, Trip wanted to live aboard his new command.

The meeting had gone well. Starfleet and the other Allies were going to propose the creation of a "neutral zone" between Romulan space and Alliance space. The hope was that if the Allies agreed to restrict trade, colonization and military activity to their side of the neutral zone, that the Romulans would see the benefit of doing the same. It was a still a long shot, but now they seemed to have the ear of at least one powerful Romulan, thanks entirely to T'Pol.

"Their arrogance might be the biggest hurdle to negotiations. That and the pleasure they seem to get from conquest."

"Well," said Trip, "After tomorrow, it will be for bigger heads than us to deal with. Archer. Soval. T'Pau. The President. . . ."

They entered their quarters, and T'Pol's body language immediately changed from Vulcan Commander to emotionally exhausted woman.

"You look like you could use some meditation," said Trip.

She nodded.

"I've got a stack of reports to read. Go ahead. I'll be around if you need me."

He kissed her on the forehead, and she disappeared into the next room. He heard her lighting candles and saw the soft glow of the flames emanating from the next room. He picked up his PADD, thinking that he should probably start meditating with her given the concentration his new position required.

****

"Poison?"

Ravel nodded at the ProConsul. Neither of them were pleased with the murder of the one person who was a witness to Ston's treachery on Hirku Station.

"It's a specific kind, grown only on a colony administrated by Bala's family. In addition to that, the last time this particular poison was used as a murder weapon, the victim was a social activist who had begun to protest some of the policies of her family."

The ProConsul nodded, simultaneously infuriated with Ston and proud of him. Clearly, the boy was not going down without a fight. Nonetheless, the ProConsul planned on meeting with Bala's father in the morning and letting him know about Ston's treachery. The ProConsul would agree to a divorce, in exchange for Bala's family supporting the background negotiations with the Alliance. Ston wouldn't know what hit him.


	24. Chapter 24

_Disclaimer: This world, its characters and most everything else is not mine._

_Rating: R_

_A/N: More plot moving forward._

_Enterprise_, still in space dock at Jupiter Station, buzzed with activity. Captain Tucker had ordered everyone aboard since the fleet could be ordered out toward Romulan space at any time.

Of course, Trip knew that that wasn't likely to happen until the negotiations commenced, but he knew they needed to be ready. He also feared that with Romulan cloaking technology — and its always changing phase frequencies — a sneak attack was not out of the question. The NX-02 was still out patrolling no-man's land and the NX-03, _The Endeavor_, was fresh out of space dock and had a completely green crew. _Enterprise_'s crew, on the other hand, was combat seasoned.

"Good Morning, Captain," said Malcolm as he strode into the Ready Room.

"Mornin', Malcolm," said Trip, "Any news from the spooks on the negotiations that aren't supposed to be happening?"

"Nothing yet," said Malcolm, "Commander T'Pol doesn't plan to make contact for another two to three hours. She's waiting for the final proposal from the coalition, so it can be transmitted immediately."

Trip sipped on his coffee. It seemed a little too good to be true, the notion that they could negotiate their way out of this war so soon. But he hoped it was true. He didn't want to be captain of a warship. He wanted to be an explorer.

"Hoshi and T'Pol left a couple of hours ago. When are you heading over?" asked Trip.

"As soon as I'm done here, sir" said Malcolm.

"Well, then," said Trip, "Dismissed."

Malcolm smiled as he got up.

"Good Luck, Malcolm," said Trip.

Malcolm nodded, but he didn't say anything. Both men knew they would need more than luck, if these negotiations were to have any hope of coming to fruition.

****

The ProConsul sat down at his breakfast table alone. He had dispatched his letter to Bala's family and was waiting for a response. As soon as he got it, he would order his guard to arrest Ston. Then, he would wait for contact from T'Pol.

As he drank his Romulan tea, he felt a great resolve toward the negotiations and not just because he wanted his favorite son returned to him. Romulans were highly adept conquerors, but he sincerely doubted the current government's ability to prosecute a war against an alliance that included the Vulcans. Vulcans, were, after all, simply another kind of Romulan. Initially, he had believed they would be invading Earth, Tellar, Andoria and Vulcan individually. It wouldn't have been easy, but the Empire could have accomplished it.

But with the four planets united together, and possibly bringing other planets such as Alpha Centari, Denobula and even Beta Zed into their alliance, the conflict could be drawn out for years. He would propose holding off the full scale invasion until the intelligence forces could destabilize this potentially destructive alliance.

His suggestion made sense, but he knew Vulcans better than most Romulans. He only hoped he could convince his fellow members of the Great Council to respect their cousins.

The ProConsul heard a noise, and he looked up to see one of his Remans escort Ravel into his dining room.

"Good morning, sir," she said formally, her hands behind her back.

"Ravel, I may need the intelligence department's assistance in backing my claim that that alliance between our eastern border targets presents an unnecessary risk and should be destabilized before this war proceeds further. Do you believe your department can provide documentation of this?"

Ravel thought for a moment. His request was highly unorthodox, but it had merit. Their cousins the Vulcans would no doubt be the most formidable enemy the Empire had ever faced, and if they were allied with other races, it would make them even more dangerous. It was also highly unusual for the Romulans to be goaded into conflict by another race, as the humans had done after the explosion at the mining colony.

"The fall of the High Command did deal us an unnecessary blow," said Ravel, "and many of our analysts believe that the war has begun — prematurely. As much as some of the generals and the senators refuse to believe so."

The ProConsul nodded.

"Can you put together a report? You may use the secure communications station in my upper office."

Ravel nodded.

_The ProConsul must be very serious,_ she thought.

Although she had secret clearance, offering her use of his communication equipment was unusual.

The Reman will escort you up to the console and log you onto the system," said The ProConsul, "If you happen to notice I'm receiving a communication from my daughter summon me immediately."

"Yes, sir," said Ravel.

*****

Ravel had been working at the terminal for several hours, when a message appeared on the screen that T'Pol was trying to communicate with her father. Ravel knew exactly the kind of device that she was using, as she used one similar to contact the ProConsul during her years as an operative on Vulcan. Without logging off, she quietly made her way down the steps toward the sitting room with the intention of summoning The ProConsul.

Years of intelligence training combined with a sensitive Romulan nose made Ravel stop in her tracks. She smelled copper blood. She also smelled the zinc blood of Remans. Something was very wrong.

As silently as she could, she moved toward the smell, which was emanating from the sitting room. Her heart beat quickly in her side, and she suppressed her developing fear. She stopped just short of the ornate lattice double doors that led to the sitting room. She peered through a crack the door's design and saw an appalling scene.

The ProConsul was curled onto the floor, his fine robes stained with green blood. Above him stood Ston, a ceremonial Romulan knife in his hand. He looked as serious as she had ever seen the boy look. Behind him stood Bala, smiling.

"You did perfectly, husband," said Bala, "I'm so proud of you."

The ProConsul, in clear agony, gurgled something and trembled.

"He's bleeding everywhere," said Ston, "The carpet is ruined. And there are no more Remans to clean it. We should have kept some of them alive to clean up this mess."

"We'll get more Remans," said Bala, "Now that you're to be a ProConsul. Father says he can arrange that."

Ston knelt down next to his father.

"You shouldn't have tried to have me arrested," said Ston, "You made me do this."

Bala kicked the ProConsul with her tiny foot. He grunted.

"You underestimated him," she said coldly to her father-in-law, "Something I would never do."

Bala then reached over and kissed Ston on the cheek, and he smiled with pleasure.

Ravel saw green coming out of The ProConsuls mouth, and then he closed his eyes.

"We need to leave," said Bala, "Father's men will be here soon to take the body and hang it in the square. We will have to open the gates for them since the Remans are dead."

Bala and Ston then dashed off toward the front door. After waiting a moment, Ravel quickly moved toward The ProConsul, who she feared was already dead. She pulled a needle from her military belt and pressed it into his neck. If there was any life left in him, the stimulant on the needle would revive him.

His eyes flew open, and for the first time in the many years she had known him, Ravel saw fear in his eyes.

"Ston. . .he's . . ."

"I know, sir," she said, "Her family has chosen him. All the better to control the Great Council. Can I get you to a hospital?"

He shook his head.

"I feel no pain," he choked, "You know what that means."

She nodded. Fatal wounds did not hurt. All soldiers knew that.

"Go connect to T'Pol. Tell Enme what has happened. You must find a way to fight them. They will destroy the Empire from within. You know that."

Ravel nodded. She also knew well what would happen to her and all those who were perceived as close to this once powerful man.

"I'm sorry, Ravel, for what this means to you. . . I should have seen. . ."

Ravel used a corner of his robe to wipe the blood from his mouth.

"Quiet, sir. Tell me what to tell T'Pol to tell Enme."

"He needs to know that the Empire is now his enemy," said The ProConsul, "as it is yours."

With that, his eyes closed, and Ravel knew there was no reviving him. She ran upstairs and into the communications room where she had been working. With one hand, she created a connection with T'Pol's ring. With the other, she pulled up some messages that had arrived in the meantime. She read them quickly, and the contents were not surprising. The ProConsul's other two sons had disappeared.

Enme was the only hope for the family that had helped rule the Empire since its founding.

_Him and the Vulcan woman_, thought Ravel.

That very Vulcan woman appeared as a hologram. Ravel turned and looked at her.

"I wish to speak with the ProConsul, as he requested," said T'Pol in Vulcan.

"The ProConsul is dead. He was assassinated only moments ago," replied Ravel in Vulcan.

The Vulcan woman did not appear to react.

_Damned automaton_, thought Ravel.

"I need to speak with Enme, is he there?" asked Ravel.

_Surely, the ProConsul __would have demanded proof of life. Surely he would be in close proximity._

"_Please_," said Ravel, her voice cracking.

T'Pol stepped aside and her image disappeared. It was replaced by Enme, who did not speak Vulcan. In Romulan, Ravel quickly explained what she had seen. The green hue drained from Enme's face, and his mouth dropped open.

"Ravel, you need to get out of the house and off Romulus. As quickly as you can. Can you do that?"

Tears filled Ravel's eyes, but she nodded. She was a trained intelligence agent and a military officer. If anyone could avoid the assassins that would come after her she could — at least for a time.

"Where will I go? They'll eventually find me."

"Make your way to the no man's land between Romulan and Alliance space. Near the mining colony there's a place called Hirku station — the place where Ston transferred the dilithium."

Ravel nodded. She knew of the place, but she had never been there.

"Get there. I will meet you there. . . just get there."

"You're a prisoner," she said.

"All the armies of hell won't stop me from getting there," said Enme, and he reached a hand up. Ravel instinctively did the same, though she felt nothing as her hand passed through the hologram.

"We'll be exiles," said Ravel.

"Just go. . .now!"

With that, Enme disappeared.

****

It had been nearly a half an hour since the communication between Enme and Ravel had been cut off. Although her brother had been silent the whole time, T'Pol knew that back end negotiations were now an impossibility. Enme stared out the window at the giant red storm of Jupiter.

"It seems you and I are both orphans, sister," said Enme, "but I believe I am the greater orphan. For I have lost my people as well as my father this day."

T'Pol said nothing.

"So. . ." continued Enme, "How does one go about applying for political asylum for Earth? Do you happen to know?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. This was unexpected.

"I thought you said you would never betray your people by choice."

Enme took a deep breath, and he turned and looked his sister dead in the eyes.

"My people are now being ruled by my brother Ston and the family that helped him murder our father, probably our two brothers and anyone close to them from servant to officer to friend. According to my culture the only honorable thing for me to do is _everything I can to topple that government_. It seems my enemies' enemies are now my friends. That includes you, T'Pol."

This was perhaps the first time he had ever called her by name. She nodded.

"I will convey your request to Admiral Archer. Are you sure you wish to ask Earth and not Vulcan for asylum?"

Enme thought about that for a moment.

"No offense, sister, but I think I prefer the company of humans. Much as you do."

****

Meanwhile, at the listening station in the next room, Hoshi had told Malcolm, Archer, Soval and the rest of the intelligence officers what had occurred. She roughly translated both the Romulan and Vulcan portions of the conversation.

"Damn," said Archer, "I thought we had a chance of ending this war before it got out of control."

Malcolm shook his head, this was very bad news. On the other hand, they now had one hell of an intelligence asset in Enme. And if they could find this woman Ravel, no doubt she could be invaluable as well. If it was the same Ravel from his report on T'Pol and the Captain's kidnapping earlier in the year, this woman had spent several years spying on the Vulcans and could tell them much about Romulan intelligence operation.

"Could this be an elaborate deception?" asked Malcolm, "The woman is a Romulan intelligence agent."

Soval leaned forward.

"It's possible," said Soval, "but Vulcan has several operatives on Romulus. They should be able to confirm this assassination and the resulting political upheaval within days."

Malcolm nodded.

"If that's the case, we need to find this woman Ravel. She could help us," he replied.

Archer nodded.

"Malcolm, I'm leaning toward believing this story. If the V'Shar can confirm it, then I'll want to send _Enterprise_ to search for this woman. The fleet will follow you toward Romulan space, but we're slower. You and T'Pol will have be the ones gathering the intelligence from the prisoner — or rather defector — along the way - and continue to gather intelligence once you've found this Ravel person."

Soval raised a hand.

"The V'Shar can send a ship. We'll allow Starfleet intelligence to join us. . ."

"Soval," said Archer, "Enme is T'Pol's brother. And she's suddenly the only family he has left. Romulans may be murderous bastards, but they do value family. The safest place for us to stash this guy is _Enterprise_. My gut tells me that under the circumstances, he wouldn't do anything to upset the only sane relative he has left. And it appears he's going help us lure in this Ravel and convince her to defect to our side as well."

"No offense, Admiral," said Soval, "but you humans are not equipped to deal with two members of the Romulan military. . ."

Archer stood up. He spoke forcefully and confidently.

"If either of our Romulan defectors get out of line, I'm sure T'Pol, Malcolm and his team can handle it. I've seen them deal with far worse."

****

That evening T'Pol dined alone with her captain in the private mess. She briefed him on the events of the day, and the orders that were impending for the ship. But Trip didn't give a damn about that. His wife's father had very likely been murdered that day. He knew they had a rule about not getting personal in official areas, but this was hardly a normal situation. He stood up, walked around the table and knelt next to her. He locked eyes with her.

"He was your father," he said, "and he's probably dead. I'm sorry, baby."

Trip entwined his fingers in hers. As he expected, her emotions were twisted into a storm of regret, anger, sadness and confusion. The man whom she had known as a child had been dead to her for decades, the Romulan they had met months previous was a figure of anger and mystery. Yet, she was deeply saddened that he was gone.

"I should not care that he is dead. He was dead to me long ago," she whispered.

"It doesn't work that way," he said, "You loved him when you were a kid, or whatever you Vulcans call love, and he loved you."

T'Pol leaned over and rested her forehead against his. Unlike a Vulcan mate, he would never shame her for feeling such complex emotions. Nor had she ever sensed one ounce of concern over her Romulan parentage. She was never more grateful for having a human mate, even though it meant verbalizing her feelings.

"I am glad to have you here, Thy'la," she said.

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, until she spoke again.

"Your catfish is going to get cold," she said in Vulcan monotone, "and Chef had it brought especially from Louisiana and kept in stasis for you."

Trip sighed and returned to his chair. Chef certainly knew how to keep his captains happy.

"As soon as Ravel's story is confirmed by the V'Shar," said T'Pol, "They will transfer my brother to this ship. Malcolm suggested we tell the crew he is V'osh K'atur, since he is obviously not a conventional Vulcan. Malcolm believes we should also give him more freedom in deference to his status as a defector, though we shall continue to monitor him carefully."

Trip took a bite of his catfish. He hated the idea of lying to his crew, but he understood the necessity. The general public could not know that Romulans and Vulcans were the same race. The V'osh K'atur story made sense.

"I suppose you could argue that all Romulans are simply V'tosh Ka'tur," said T'Pol simply.

Trip smiled. She always knew how to make him feel better.


	25. Chapter 25

_Rating: PG_

_Disclaimer: This world is not mine._

Enme had been returned to his familiar, cramped quarters on _Enterprise_. He paced in the small room, not quite knowing what to do with himself. His feet now recognized the familiar vibrations of the warp drive, and he knew that within the week they would arrive at Hirku station. In the meantime, just like everyone else on the ship, he had time on his hands.

He had spent the previous two days, before their departure, giving the humans all the military intelligence he could, including tactical information he was sure they hadn't gotten from him while he was drugged. The spymaster, Reed, had admitted that they only obtained information they had asked for, and Enme knew plenty of things that humans wouldn't have known to ask for.

Enme snickered. In the wake of his father's murder, he had no qualms about joining the humans against The Empire. A major defeat for the new regime, led by Bala's father, would no doubt topple their government. Toppling that government was now his only purpose in life. At least officially, it was his only purpose.

Personally, Enme had another obsession. He wanted to find and rescue Ravel. She had been a loyal servant to their family since her graduation from the academy. In fact, it was Enme who had recommended her to his father. In doing her that honor, he had unknowingly sealed her fate. He _had_ to rescue her.

Enme closed his eyes and thought of his father, now dead. He thought of his two brothers, now probably dead. He had barely had time to grieve these last few days. Now, he had a few hours to kill, he could at least honor his family with a makeshift grieving ritual.

Enme lit a candle, provided by one of the guards for his "Vulcan" meditation. He also retrieved a knife that he had taken from the mess hall that day. Since his defection he was still guarded, but Captain Tucker had given him permission to eat in the mess hall, visit the gym and walk around the decks, provided he had a security escort.

Enme sat down in front of the candle and began to chant in Ancient Romulan. The words evoked memories of his mother's funeral, nearly two decades earlier. Then, there had been hundreds of mourners packed into a grand temple in the main square of Romulus's capital city. His father and brothers had been there, chanting as they burned her body. Now, he mourned his father and brothers alone in a tiny cabin on a human starship, light years away from the Fatherworld.

Enme reached a key part of the ritual. He took the knife and cut across his palm. He continued to chant as he wiped green blood across each cheek. He clasped his hands together to stop the bleeding and continued to chant for nearly an hour.

The chime on the door rang.

Enme opened his eyes.

"Come in," he said.

T'Pol appeared in the doorway, carrying several parcels.

"Are you all right, Enme?" she asked as she entered and placed the parcels on the bunk.

She leaned down to examine his face, to see if he was wounded.

"Yes, don't fear I've done anything rash. My desire for death was never very strong. I was just engaging in the Romulan chant of mourning. The ritual involves painting oneself with blood. I suppose you probably find that rather primitive."

T'Pol nodded.

"It is primitive. Vulcans before the time of awaking engaged in such practices," she said in her monotone.

Enme sighed.

"How do Vulcans mourn the dead?"

T'Pol went to the bathroom and retrieved a wet washcloth. She knelt beside her brother.

"We have extensive rituals, as well as a funeral dirge," she replied, "Is it appropriate to remove the blood from your face? Or are you required to wear the dried blood longer?"

Enme took the washcloth and wiped his face.

"Thankfully, it isn't required to stay. I hate the smell of my own blood," he replied.

"I am sorry about your father and the rest of your family," she said.

"They were your family, too. I'm sorry you never knew my two full brothers. As annoyed I was with them most of the time, they had their qualities."

T'Pol remained silent.

"Would you like to tell me about them?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "but it seems you have come bearing gifts. May I ask what is in the parcels?"

She nodded.

"They are Vulcan-style clothes. I thought you would be tired of the jumpsuits we've been giving you. And, since the majority of the crew believes you are a Vulcan assigned to assist us in intelligence gathering — it makes sense that you begin dressing like a Vulcan."

Enme raised his eyebrow.

"Our quartermaster made the clothes based on scans in the ship's database. Both Admiral Archer and Captain Tucker have told me that his work rarely needs adjustment. However, he said that if you need additional tailoring, he'd be happy to accommodate you."

"We shall see," said Enme, as he examined some of the robes and other garments made by the quartermaster.

"I have a few hours before my shift begins," said T'Pol, "Perhaps we could have tea in the mess hall and you could tell me about your brothers — _our_ brothers."

"I'd like that. Although, I confess, I'm still not accustomed to the new freedom I've been given," said Enme.

He grabbed some of his new clothes and headed into the small bathroom. He shut the door as he changed, but he could hear her voice.

"Both Lt. Commander Reed and Captain Tucker have stated that they are willing to remove your guard, if you prove yourself loyal. There would still be areas of the ship that would be off limits — including Engineering and The Bridge, but I thought you would want to know that."

Enme laughed.

"My people would have thrown someone in my position out an airlock, intelligence value or not."

He emerged from the bathroom, in a black Vulcan-style suit with red trip on the collar and pockets.

"You wear that well," she said.

"Shall we?" he said.

"Yes," she said, "Perhaps we should stop in sickbay and Phlox can treat your hand."

"Very well," said Enme.

*****

Later that night, Malcolm rang the chime on Hoshi's door. She answered it, wearing her civilian clothes and smiled at him. Malcolm could also some rather enticing Brazilian-Japanese food as he walked into the door, carrying a bottle of French wine he had obtained on the station.

"I can't believe Chef lets you use the galley," said Malcolm, "I think you are the only one he allows that particular privilege."

Hoshi grinned.

"That's surely true," said Hoshi, "He hated it when Admiral Archer used to go down there and likes it even worse when Captain Tucker is in there — says that the galley is like sickbay, one of the few places where the Captain is not in charge."

Malcolm put the bottle of wine on the small table that Hoshi had set for their date.

"Does that have a real cork?" asked Hoshi, impressed. Only the oldest, best wineries used non-synthetic corks.

"It does. It's a 2151 Burgundy, supposedly a very good year."

She dug out an old-fashioned cork screw from a drawer. She handed it to Malcolm so he could open the bottle.

"Well, that was a very good year," said Hoshi, "It's the year this ship launched. . .and the year we met."

Malcolm smiled. It seemed like a thousand years ago, not just over five. He remembered briefly how many had thought a tactical officer would be unnecessary on a ship of exploration. Now, _Enterprise_ was a ship of war. If it weren't a ship of war, he wouldn't be about to do what he was about to do. If it weren't a ship of war, he'd be content as things were. But on a ship of war, one couldn't afford to dither around and wait for perfection.

"Time passes quickly when you're out here," sighed Malcolm.

They sat down and began to talk about their recent work.

"I've listened to the exchange between Enme and Ravel several times," said Hoshi, "I'll tell you something I didn't put in my report. I think he's in love with her."

Malcolm sipped on his wine. He'd read the text in translation. Their exchange had appeared passionate, but he knew better than to apply human cultural norms to Romulan words.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"It's all in the intonation. Half-way through the conversation, when he starts telling her to escape, the inflections change from professional to personal. And as near as I can figure, the inflections are very personal. My guess is that he was in love with her before this all started. I'm not sure they were involved. . .my guess is it was an unrequited thing."

Malcolm nodded. He thought briefly of his earlier jealously, which now seemed like a mere blip in his relationship with Hoshi. Between her therapy sessions and their spending the night together two or three times a week, he wasn't worried that Hoshi didn't love him. He knew that she did. And he loved her back. More so than he had ever loved anyone.

"That means has a strong motive for wanting to save her. Stronger than family honor. I mean, I tend to believe that most humanoid species love. It's just basic evolution. Even Vulcans love, just look at T'Pol. Vulcans don't admit to be capable of love — but they clearly are capable."

"Romulans definitely embrace the concept of passionate, romantic love," said Hoshi, "but it's a little dark. Their literature is filled with stories that make Romeo & Juliet look like they got a happy ending. One poem I read was about a woman who kills her lover to prevent him being forced to marry another. And he's grateful for it. Another was about a pair who murder his family in order to be together. And the reader is supposed side with them."

Malcolm laughed, though there was bitterness in it.

"And we're fighting a war against these people. And I'm sure it's going to be a long one. . .especially since the government has apparently been taken over by hardliners. Enme says that this new family is notoriously brutal even by Romulan standards."

Hoshi closed her eyes. Part of her wanted off the ship and back to Earth, though she understood the folly of such a sentiment. If all the best people didn't give everything they had to the war effort, Earth wouldn't be any more safe than the ship.

Malcolm seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. He pulled something from his pocket.

"I was going to save this for the dessert course," he said, "but what the hell?"

He pushed the little box toward her. Her mouth dropped open. Malcolm had several times declared his serious intentions toward her, but she was clearly surprised.

"Open it," he said.

She did, and there was a platinum ring, with a red mars-stone in the center and surrounded by shimmering blue stones that Hoshi recognized as Andorian gems of some kind.

"Red really suits you," he said "and so I got this. But if you'd like something else. . .just let me know."

Malcolm sighed, longing for the days when engagement rings were always diamonds. Those days must have been much simpler. Now, engagement rings were whatever stone the bride liked.

"No. . .no. It's beautiful," said Hoshi, slipping the ring on her hand.

"So," he said, "I'll take that as a yes."

"Did I not say yes?" said Hoshi.

Malcolm shook his head. He took her hands in his across the table.

"But then again, I didn't officially ask. Hoshi, I can't imagine my life without you. The two of us going from friends to lovers is the best thing that's ever happened to me. If we must face this war, I want to face it together. So, will you be my bride?"

Hoshi looked down at the ring.

"Yes," she said, "I will."

The two of them grinned at each other, unsure what to do next. In the movies, couples always embraced passionately. But Malcolm was starving.

"Good," he said, "It's settled, then."

He leaned over the small table and kissed her forehead. Then, he briefly kissed her on the lips before sitting back down.

"Now," he said, "I'm going to eat before this gets cold."

Hoshi nodded. Then, she felt his leg under the table wrap around hers. And she too started in on her soup.

****

T'Pol arrived home to her quarters to find Trip in bed reading a PADD. She carried a plate with a slice of pecan pie and a cup of coffee. As Captain, protocol dictated that Trip keep his visits to the mess hall to a minimum and instead have the stewards bring him what he wanted in his private mess or in the Ready Room. However, the stewards hadn't yet mastered making coffee just the way he liked it, and worse, he had twice missed Chef's pecan pie because the stewards didn't know that it was the new Captain's favorite.

"Is that what I think it is?" said Trip.

"It was the last piece," said T'Pol, "I took the liberty of bringing it to you. Plus Dark Roast Coffee, Black. Without caffeine, given the lateness of the hour."

She sat next to him. He took coffee and placed it on the nightstand. Then, he took the pie and had a bite.

"I thought you didn't like it when I ate food in bed," he said.

"I'm making an exception," she said.

He put another piece on the fork and fed it to her.

"I just got a report from the joint chiefs," said Trip, "seems _The Columbia_ got into a firefight with a couple of drones and took heavy damage. They made it to Hirku station and are getting patched up. In addition to searching for Ravel, we've been asked to lend Captain Hernandez and her crew a hand."

"Were there any casualties?" asked T'Pol.

"No fatalities as of yet, but that may change. Twenty-two Wounded. Six critically," said Trip, grimly.

T'Pol snuggled up against Trip, and she thought of the brutal massacre that had befallen her brother's family — her family, though she did not know them as such. Romulans were not a merciful people.

"They were fortunate," she said, "It could have been much worse."

"Malcolm says your brother has been very helpful, and that he thinks this Ravel will cooperate as well. I hope so. It seems we need all the help we can get."

"Nevertheless," said T'Pol, "_The Columbia_ is in tact, and none of her crew is dead. The Romulans may be formidable enemies, but so are humans. And Vulcans. And Tellarites. And Andorians. Together, we will stop them."


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit made. This is all for fun.**

**Rating: R to NC-17 depending on your sensibilities.**

_Enterprise_ reached Hirku station, and Trip immediately saw _The Columbia_, which had been docked there for several days. The ship looked like hell, with huge black, twisted scars across her bow and one small part of the saucer section was missing all together.

"Captain Tucker to Captain Hernandez," said Trip, "Can we be of assistance?"

Erika Hernandez appeared on the viewscreen. She looked tired but otherwise unharmed.

"Yes," she said, "Our doctor died from injuries this morning. We've got medics treating the casualties, but I'd like to transport the five still-critical patients to _Enterprise_ for treatment. We can use our shuttlepod."

"Understood. Ensign Sato, alert Phlox. Anything else?"

After delivering some orders to her crew, Hernandez nodded.

"We've got a laundry list of repairs. Our warp drive is off line, and Kelby is one of the critical wounded with plasma burns on one third of his body. The repair teams from the station have been helping us, but they are hardly familiar with Starfleet warp technology."

Trip nodded.

"I'll have Hess put together a team and sent them over. If need be, I'll come over myself."

Henandez smiled just a little, though there was still sadness in her eyes.

"Old habits dying hard, Captain?"

Trip sighed, and he glanced over at T'Pol.

"My first officer has standing orders to prevent me from doing my chief engineer's job."

"Speaking of your job," replied Hernandez, "My tactical officer has prepared a report on our encounter with the drone ships. I understand you and your tactical officer have some expertise in this area. We're going to put together some recommendations for the brass based on our experience. We appreciate you and Lt. Commander Reed's input."

"You and _your_ tactical officer can join Reed and myself for dinner tonight, here on _Enterprise_. I'll wager you are sick of rations by now. How's 1900 hours?"

"We'll be there. Hernandez out."

Trip sighed. He knew exactly what the crew of _The Columbia_ were going through, and he didn't envy them, but he was glad to be there to lend assistance.

****

Enme spun around in his quarters. He was wearing traditional Vulcan robes.

"How do I look, sister? Do you think I can pass for one of you?"

"Not if you keep smiling that way," replied T'Pol smoothly.

"Ah, but I'm a Vulcan without logic," said Enme, laughing bitterly at his own joke. As far as he was concerned — all Romulans were Vulcans without logic.

T'Pol looked at her brother. Since Malcolm had given them permission to visit Javon on the station, Enme had been in a good mood. It was the first real sign that he was starting to earn the trust of his new allies. Malcolm also felt that if Enme tried to escape, it would be a good gauge as to whether they could trust all the intelligence he had given them.

"It will also be highly suspicious that you don't speak Vulcan," said T'Pol, "though I believe your English is coming along nicely."

"The Terran language has been easy to pick up," said Enme, "not nearly so with Vulcan. But Hoshi says that Starfleet intelligence is working on a mini-universal translator that I could implant in my ear. It might solve my little Vulcan language problem."

T'Pol straightened her brother's robes. She was dressed in similar civilian clothes, all the better to blend into the Vulcan section of the station. They had arranged a meeting with Javon to learn if there was any word of Ravel reaching the station.

"Until you have that UT embedded," she said, "I suggest you keep contact with any Vulcans besides Javon and myself to a minimum."

Enme nodded.

"Ironic," he said, "I was offered a slot in intelligence training. I turned it down, believing I wouldn't have the knack for it. Who knew? Ravel speaks Vulcan fluently, as you know. She's been a cracking good agent — I think she'll have a far easier time adjusting that I will. Father told me that she actually liked living on Vulcan. She thought it was an adventure."

T'Pol sighed. There had been no word of Ravel at the station.

"When do we head off to the station?"

"Anytime you are ready, Tirak."

"I don't know how I'll get used to that," he said, "at least Ravel's name works in both languages. I wish mine did."

T'Pol's hands were behind her back, her face emotionless.

"My husband sometimes jokes I should adopt the name Polly while we are on Earth. I have objected to the notion even in jest."

Enme searched his sister's face for any sign of irony. He saw none but was unconvinced it wasn't there somewhere behind her eyes.

"Is that your way of saying you sympathize with my identity being ripped from me?"

T'Pol nodded, and she gestured toward the door.

"Shall we, brother?"

"Are you going to make me hold with the vegetarian thing?"

"You are V'tosh Ka'tur. They are not always vegetarians."

"Thank the gods for small favors."

****

When T'Pol and Enme arrived at the airlock, T'Pol found her captain there waiting for her. Trip knew she wasn't going to like what he had to say, but he was determined not to let her talk him out of the order he was about to give her.

"Is there something you need, Captain?"

Enme raised an eyebrow at his brother-in-law, but he said nothing.

"I need a word in private, Commander."

"Don't mind me," said Enme, "I'll just wait for you here. No worries that I'll dash off. I'm an exile not a prisoner."

Trip resisted the urge to roll his eyes at T'Pol's brother. The guy had a sense of humor, but that didn't mean Trip trusted him or had forgotten how dangerous he was.

T'Pol followed Trip into a nearby alcove. He reached up and almost put his hands on her shoulders, but he stopped short.

"He's no danger to me," she said, "not now."

"That doesn't mean it's safe on that station. The last time you were there you and Hoshi got snatched. I know you've added a jammer to your communicator that would prevent unauthorized transport — but who knows what else could happen? You need take Malcolm with you as a precaution. I've seen reports of a few — incidents — on the station since the alliance took over. It's not that I don't trust your skills. I just think it's better policy that you have backup."

T'Pol inhaled.

"My brother has reason to dislike Lt. Commander Reed."

"That's why I'm sending him, specifically."

"So this is an order?"

Trip nodded, and he dropped his hands at his side. He sensed that she was not pleased. She probably thought Malcolm would draw unnecessary attention, and he could tell that she didn't believe that there wasn't something personal behind his orders. But Trip was the captain, and she was going to have to accept his decision.

"I've already called Malcolm. He should be here momentarily. And remember. I want you and Malcolm back by this evening to be in on the dinner with Captain Hernandez."

"Yes, sir."

Trip resisted the urge to say something more, something that was personal, but instead he nodded and headed down the hallway.

***

T'Pol returned to her brother, and as she explained to him that Reed would be joining them, she kept her eyes on the floor. Enme had made a game of trying to decipher hints of emotion in his sister, and he saw more than hints at this moment. He couldn't resist needling her.

"So, you used to outrank him. Now he outranks you. How does that work?" asked her brother.

"Very well. . . most of the time."

"Well, I hope you don't let him order you around when you are alone," said Enme.

"Not unless I'm in the mood," she replied coldly.

Enme resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Vulcans and Romulans were perhaps more alike than he first thought.

***

About an hour later, T'Pol, Malcolm and Enme sat at a table in the Vulcan section of Hirku station. Javon, the V'Shar operative stationed there, sat with them and seemed almost amused at the entire situation. The human was dressed as a civilian trader, and the two siblings wore traditional Vulcan robes. T'Pol wore them well, naturally. Enme carried himself as though he was on his way to a costume ball, and he knew it.

"Let's see. I have a Vulcan, albeit one married to a human. I have a human. And I have a Romulan, who is doing a terrible job of pretending to be Vulcan," said Javon, "If there are any Romulan agents among us, I'm sure we've revealed ourselves already."

Enme glared at the man, and his hand moved for a disruptor that wasn't at his hip.

"Have you heard of a Romulan female on her way here? She's very good at pretending to be a Vulcan. Have you heard of a Vulcan. . "

Enme's voice drifted off as T'Pol glared at him. He knew he was revealing too much, not just of his of his true ethnicity, but also of his feelings for Ravel. Reed glanced quickly at T'Pol. No doubt he thought that having an amateur along on any kind of intelligence mission was a trial.

"There's been no such reports," said T'Pol, "but that could only mean Ravel is adept at keeping cover."

Enme sighed.

"So," said Javon, "I have heard of all the recent goings-on on Romulus. It's quite unfortunate all around. It now looks like its going to be a long war."

"I'm going to do my best to help shorten it," said Enme.

Javon raised his eyebrow.

"We'll have to see that you get the opportunity," said Javon, "as that would be agreeable for both sides."

Enme glanced over at Javon and the human then at his sister. Whatever the differences between this quadrant's species, their common enemy had united them.

****

T'Pol returned to her quarters late that afternoon, well in time to shower and change into a uniform for the dinner with Captain Hernandez. Javon hadn't been forthcoming with very much information about the situation on the station, but he had read Enme easily.

T'Pol made a note to school her brother in the basics of intelligence operations. Rule number one: don't reveal anything you don't need to reveal, even if to your allies.

She immediately noticed the room was filled with steam, and the shower was in use. Trip was obviously preparing for the dinner as well. As she sat down on a chair and began to remove her shoes, she situated herself with a view of his form in shower.

As much as as she admired the view, she remained irritated that he had sent Malcolm to the station with her. Malcolm's presence hadn't been overly obtrusive, but she remained doubtful Trip would have sent him with anyone else.

She closed her eyes, and she began to slowly suppress the negativity she felt. Trip was her captain, and she was required to respect his wishes. However, she had found it much easier to follow Archer's disagreeable orders.

She heard the water turn off, but she kept her eyes closed. She heard him stirring around their quarters for a few minutes — then sensed him near her. She opened her eyes and saw him kneeling next to her in his bathrobe.

"How'd it go on the station?" he asked.

"I shall prepare a full report later this evening, but the mission concluded without incident."

_Still mad about Malcolm? _

She knew better than to deny it. He now knew very well she was capable of feeling emotions.

_I would not have allowed my brother to compromise our goals. _

"I know you wouldn't have done it on purpose. But one of _my_ goals is to make sure that Starfleet remains absolutely confident in your loyalty. If he had escaped on your watch — that might have cast you in a bad light. Who knows what those paper pushers at the head office would do if they decided they couldn't trust you? I'm not going to risk losing my first officer, even if it means having her pissed off at me."

She met his eyes, and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of his freshly showered body. His thought process was logical, and her anger started to dissipate. She glanced at the chronometer and saw that they still had nearly an hour before Captain Hernandez was to arrive.

She stood up. Trip stood up next to her. He kissed her ear as he ran his fingers over the outline of her breasts, which were still encased in the traditional Vulcan silk of her robes. He inhaled the Vulcan spices and perfumes that had clung to her while on the station, which had mixed with the copper of her skin and hair.

"You know," he said, "you look really hot in your Vulcan outfit."

She raised her eyebrow at him. He covered her mouth with his, attempting to kiss away the last wisps of anger he sensed in her mind.

_Can't afford to lose you, darlin. If I had another XO, I wouldn't be able to do this when they disagreed with my orders. _

T'Pol kissed him for awhile, then she stepped back and turned around. She lifted up her hair to reveal the hook at the top of her robe. Trip undid it, then slid his fingers down her back to the tie that was at her waist. He undid that as well. He then lifted his hands back up to her shoulders and pushed the robe off her shoulder. The garment fluttered to the floor, pooling at her feet. Trip kissed the back of her neck and pulled her against him.

"I've been meaning to ask you. Do all Vulcans go without underwear beneath their robes?"

She felt his erection pressed against her backside, and she found herself amused that her lack of underwear aroused him so much, especially since she knew that she owned underwear that had an equally arousing affect on him. It was contradictory.

"Traditionally the robes are worn without undergarments. But logic dictates that that tradition should not always be followed."

He nipped at her neck and cupped her breasts with his hands. He teased her nipples into taut little buds.

"Well, in this case I'm going to side with tradition. Logic be damned."

T'Pol turned around in is arms. She undid the tie on his robe, and it soon joined hers on the floor.

"We have only a short time, husband. I suggest we make the most of it."

She kissed him passionately, opening her mouth to his. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed her toward their bed. She fell backwards, taking him with her.

She opened her legs to him, and he rubbed his erection against her without entering her. He teased her that way until he sensed she had enough. He slipped inside her, and soon all the stresses of the day had washed away and were replaced by the depth of their feelings for one another. In their linked minds, she saw him visit the wounded in sickbay and felt his fear, knowing it could have easily been his own crew so terribly harmed. He understood her mistrust of Javon; her fear that her brother would compromise them all - on purpose or by accident. Their minds soothed each other. The bond energy swirled around them brought them to mutual euphoria.

Afterwards, Trip held her close.

"God, T'Pol, I love you," he said, "I couldn't live if something happened to you. . . "

She brushed a stray blond hair from his face, sadly thinking of the truth of his words. She felt a pang of guilt for embroiling him in a telepathic bond that could be fatal to one party if the other died.

"It's okay," he whispered in her ear, "It's okay. But I just have to protect you."

Deep inside her mind, she blocked and suppressed a worry. She feared it wasn't proper for a captain to be so concerned for one member of his crew. Nor was it wise for a first officer to be similarly obsessed with her captain. She hoped that this would not cause harm to them or the ship.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I don't own this universe. I am just having fun with it.

Rating: R for non explicit, mildly kinky sex.

A/N: In a nice bit of synergy, this chapter is toned down from the original version, because it got a little distracting.

* * *

The tactical briefing over _The Columbia_'s encounter with the drone ship took two hours over dinner. As dessert finished, Malcolm, The Columbia's tactical officer and T'Pol all excused themselves, and Captain Tucker and Captain Hernandez found themselves alone at the table. Trip ordered the steward to bring him a bottle of Irish Whiskey that Bert had given him before he'd left Ireland.

He poured two glasses, though they were not nearly as generous as the one's Archer would have poured.

"I thought Archer was the whiskey man."

Trip smiled.

"He's a bourbon man. This is totally different," he drawled, turning on his best southern charm for Hernandez.

Erika laughed, but then the two captain's locked eyes. Both of them were thinking the same thing. Jonathan Archer had been getting too friendly with the bottle, and they both knew it.

"Have you heard from the Admiral lately?" asked Trip.

"Yes. He inquired as to the welfare of the ship, and whether or not we needed to return to Jupiter station. I told him I didn't know yet. But you've seen him in a more. . .casual setting than I have more recently . . ."

Trip looked down at his whiskey, thinking of the blood wine at the 602 Club.

"He's going to be a great admiral."

There was a pause, and Erika glanced around to see if no stray crewmen were in the room.

"Provided he doesn't crawl into the bottom of a bottle a drown himself," she sighed.

Trip looked at Erika.

"Are you speaking as an officer who answers to him. . .or a friend?"

"Off the record. And as someone who cares about Jonathan as much as you do. Maybe more."

Trip nodded.

"Neither of us is in a position to say anything or do anything . . .unless it gets bad."

She nodded as well.

"Trip. . .May I call you that? I'd like to think it won't get all the way to bad - but these times have been tough on all of us."

"You can call me Trip, Erika. It's nice to have someone around who does. My wife won't even call me that unless we are alone in our quarters."

Erika sipped on her whiskey.

"Must be nice to have your wife onboard. It must make it a little less lonely at the top."

"It hasn't been smooth sailing always, but I'm glad she's here. Her being a Vulcan makes it a little easier to separate our work and personal lives. Even before I outranked her, she was all business while on duty."

If Erika heard any doubt in Trip's voice, she didn't appear to notice. Instead, she raised a glass.

"To Admiral Jonathan Archer. May he stay the course, never wavering into rough waters."

"I'll drink to that," said Trip.

The irony of them toasting their friend with hard liquor was not lost on either of them.  


* * *

  
T'Pol decided she needed some mint tea before heading back to her quarters for meditation. The mess hall was mostly empty, only a pair of crewman in the corner and Hoshi sitting alone in the corner studying a PADD.

After T'Pol got her tea, Hoshi beckoned her to her table.

"Commander," she said, "I think I'm going to be able to apply the information your brother gave me and figure out the Romulan subspace frequencies. I won't be able to decode them myself, but I"m going to forward the messages we intercept to all the alliance joint chiefs - hopefully someone will have a codebreaker that will be able to crack their encryptions."

T'Pol nodded. Her brother, not being a communication's officer, was not able to give Hoshi the exact subspace frequencies used by the Romulans either for military or civilian purposes. However, the communicator he had been captured with plus Enme's recent explanation as to how the communicator functioned had helped her figure out which frequencies it used.

"The V'Shar has had some previous success in breaking Romulan codes," said T'Pol, "but not currently. At least, as far as I've been told."

Hoshi shook her head.

"There's a Navaho community on Mars," said Hoshi, "Their language has been used as a human code for centuries. There's a few linguists among them that are great code breakers. I'm sure Starfleet will send the Romulan transmission to them," said Hoshi in a low voice.

T'Pol glanced over at the junior crewmen in the corner. It was unlikely they could hear the conversation, but she appreciated Hoshi's caution. The incident with Terra Prime had taught her that the loyalty of the entire crew was not a given. She also knew that Reed had initiated a regular protocol that swept the entire ship for listening devices. Thus far, none had been discovered.

T'Pol also glanced at the bejeweled ring on Hoshi's finger. She knew what it signified, but she said nothing. Clearly, the relationship between Sato and Reed had progressed to a high degree of seriousness. She did not object to this turn of events because she of all people knew that the more serious and settled their relationship, the less likely it was to cause disruption.

"Has there been any word on Ravel?" asked Hoshi, who had security clearance but was not kept in the regular loop about intelligence matters.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a no," said Hoshi, "If it were yes, you wouldn't have reacted at all."

T'Pol did not say a word, and Hoshi smiled.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she said, "and I can only read you on certain yes or no questions. But you Vulcans are way more revealing that you'd like to think."

"I'm not upset. But I am impressed at your observational skills. You should consider transferring to intelligence officially," said T'Pol smoothly.

"No," said Hoshi, "I'm happy to just lend the spooks a hand. I'm way too transparent to be a spy."  


* * *

  
T'Pol returned to her quarters, showered and dressed in her silken pajamas. Trip had not yet returned, and she suspected he would not for awhile. The two NX captains undoubtedly had much to discuss.

She sat down at her low table and began her meditation. She soon found herself in her white space, and she felt serenity all around her. Some time later, she sensed Trip had returned to their quarters and was preparing for bed. She guessed it was quite late, and at least an hour had passed since she began her meditation. She gradually brought herself back to the reality of her world and opened her eyes. She blew out the candle and made her way into the larger, adjacent room, where their bed and the shower was. Trip was in bed, reading a PADD.

"It is agreeable you have returned," she said.

"Nice to see you too," he said.

She crawled up on the bed next to him, and he kissed her on the cheek.

"You appear tired," she said, "you should rest."

"I am tired," he sighed, "and I'll rest. Right after I spend some time with my beautiful wife."

He placed the PADD on the table by the bed.

"What were you reading?"

He sighed.

"The report about the drones . . .I'm pretty sure we can modify our warp engines to make it harder for the drones to target them. There's a lag time between them getting new orders - and I think we can exploit that lag and a glitch in their AI to prevent a drone from ever successfully targeting one of our warp engines. I don't think smaller engines would be able to do it, I am going to suggest the changes to Hernandez.. . .but enough work."

Trip leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She kissed back, then she snuggled up against him, enjoying the close physical contact.

"I believe Lt. Commander Reed has proposed marriage to Lt. Sato," said T'Pol casually.

Trip looked down at her.

"Are you gossiping about my bridge officers?"

"Vulcans don't gossip. I'm simply informing you of a turn of events that will affect how you relate to your officers. They are also both your friends, and I believed you would be happy for them."

Trip reached up and absently caressed her ear.

"I am happy for them. I always thought he had a crush on her. On the other hand, he nursed crushes on half the women on this ship — including you darlin'."

T'Pol ignored the last part of his statement.

"You don't foresee their closeness causing difficulties?"

Trip thought about this for a moment.

"She doesn't answer to him. She answers to you. As does he. It's less awkward than our arrangement, with you directly answering to me."

"Yes," said T'Pol, "but I am Vulcan and more adept at keeping my — affection for you — from interfering with day to day operations. A human couple might not have the same discipline."

Trip leaned down at kissed her again.

"Thanks for keeping me disciplined, by the way."

She raised her eyebrow.

"Not in that way. . .well, not specifically."

She was silent for a moment, then she sensed that he was done discussing work.

"Perhaps it is time for you to show me just how disciplined you can be, human," she said firmly, her voice very serious.

T'Pol stood up and folded her arms. Trip grinned. He had taught her this game before. Sometimes he was in control, but other times it was fun to let her be in control. Especially now, since he gave orders all day long.

So much for getting a full eight hours of sleep, thought Trip.

* * *

  
**One hour and twenty minutes later.**

"The game is over," declared T'Pol, "You may call me by my given name and are no longer required to follow my orders."

Trip sighed deeply and then laughed. They were sprawled on the floor, his head in her lap. They were both naked. He was sporting a small bite mark on his shoulder, to which T'Pol was applying pressure.

"Thanks, baby. Do you think I need to see Phlox for that?"

"No," she said, "It will not leave a scar. But I am unsure as to why you purposely fail at my simple instructions, knowing the game requires me to exact punishment."

Trip laughed again.

"That's the point, darlin. Wouldn't be much fun if you didn't get to exact some of that punishment."

"I thought the game was to test your ability to follow exact orders — successfully."

He hugged her close and kissed her on the cheek.

"C'mon," he said, "You had to have sensed how much fun it was — to fail — I know you did."

"I sensed it," she said defensively, "I just found your pleasure at failure confusing."

"Next time we play, we'll reverse roles. I promise to come up with a task that you will fail to complete and a punishment you'll enjoy."

She gave him a skeptical look, but she nodded. She remembered something he had said just after their first encounter during the Expanse, when she had thanked him for showing her how human sexuality functioned. He had laughed at her.

_Honey, we've barely scratched the surface. I'll wager it would take your whole, long Vulcan lifetime to experience all the nuances of human sexuality._

She hadn't thought it was possible then, that she would be able to spend her lifetime letting him show her all those nuances.

"I look forward to your instruction, husband," she whispered, slipping her hand into his.

"Good," he said casually beginning to prepare for bed, "but that will have to be another time. Right now, I really need to get some sleep."

* * *

  
The next morning Trip met with Malcolm and Hess to discuss the upgrades to the engine defenses. T'Pol had breakfast in the mess hall, joined by her brother. He wore his Vulcan garb and rarely smiled as he drank orange juice and ate waffles.

"Your crew is terribly friendly," said Enme, "They all want to know my background and whether or not I like it aboard the ship. Your doctor has asked to examine me — he knows the truth of course — but he is very curious as to why we Romulans don't have the telepathic abilities that our cousins do. At least, we don't think we do."

T'Pol picked at her fruit salad.

"Does Phlox believe Romulans might have latent abilities?"

Enme nodded.

"You see, five thousand years isn't long enough for us to have lost the genetic ability, or so he believes. It's just the sensitivity to it that we've lost. He has asked to experiment on me — see if I might trigger some ability."

T'Pol considered this.

"I thought it might make my cover as a Vulcan more believable," said Enme, "Besides. Phlox is right. Our father had a strong telepathic connection with your mother. He told me about it once, after my mother died. He kindly informed me that he didn't grieve for my mother because the true love of his life lived — albeit far away."

T'Pol suppressed the surprise and shock. She knew that Vulcans could bond with a non-telepathic species, however, she wasn't ready to share that very personal information with her brother. But having bonded with Trip, she knew that Enme's story did not necessarily mean that Romulans were latent telepaths.

Nevertheless, the implications of his news disturbed her. She suspected that T'Les and her father had bonded on some level, but she hadn't thought clearly about what that had meant. Did it mean her mother knew his secret? Did she know he was alive? Had she continued the charade to spare T'Pol the shame of the truth? Now that both her parents were dead, it was unlikely that she would ever find out the truth. T'Pol did find herself hoping that her father was a skilled enough telepath that he had hidden the truth from her mother, as unlikely as that seemed.

"He loved my mother?" she asked, sounding merely inquisitive.

"I believe he did," said Enme, "He wasn't one to lie about things like that. And he always spoke very fondly of his time on Vulcan. I always got the feeling that he would have rather stayed there."

Enme's voice trailed off. T'Pol heard pain in his voice. She realized that she found the notion that her parents had been in love disagreeable while Enme clearly found that notion that his parents weren't in love disagreeable.

"He loved you deeply," she said, "When I spoke to him over the subspace transmitter, he clearly desired your return — whatever Romulan codes of honor say about the matter."

Enme sighed and sipped on a cup of coffee.

"Thank you for telling me that," he said, "It. . .it is good to know."


	28. Chapter 28

_Disclaimer: Don't own. Just for Fun._

_Rating: R-ish in this chapter. _

_A/N: Plot moves forth. _

_

* * *

_It wasn't yet 0600 and T'Pol quietly preparing for the day. She had risen at 0500, showered and changed into her uniform. Following that, she had spent fifteen minutes meditating. She opened her eyes, feeling refreshed, rested and well-prepared to meet the day's challenges.

Both Trip and her needed to be on duty by 0700, and it was to be a long day of assisting _The Columbia_'s crew, intelligence gathering and monitoring reports of Romulan movements in the sector. Given the long distances between systems, deep space warfare often moved at a glacial pace. Aside from the initial opening battle, the conflict had manifested in small skirmishes with drones and reconnaissance warbirds. Unless the Romulans decided to mount some sort of preemptive offensive, it could be months before another major battle occurred.

Trip was also awake, and she could hear him showering in the next room. She got up and moved gracefully toward the sound.

"Good morning," she said.

Trip, fresh from the shower, was standing in front of the closet. He turned around.

"Have you seen my boots?"

"They're beneath the bed. You often leave them there just as you did in our old quarters," she said.

He approached her and kissed her on the lips. He sighed.

"I promised myself I would make use of this bigger closet, but I still stick to my old habits."

"These quarters are far more agreeable," she replied, "They are larger and the space is more logically organized."

Trip smiled at her. Before moving in with T'Pol, he thought Vulcans intractable creatures of habit. Vulcans may have _seemed_ like creatures of habit, but when presented with a more logical option T'Pol had no problem adjusting to new circumstances. Humans, on the other hand, stuck with their routines in ways that defied logic.

He kissed her again, this time harder and more aggressively, forcing her to open her mouth to his. He let the towel drop and pulled her close.

"We need to be on the bridge in an hour," said T'Pol, looking first at the chronometer and then back it him.

"We can make it. Consider this a test of our efficiency."

He continued to kiss her, and his hands found the zipper of her uniform. She did not protest when he undid it.

"I thought human males took pride in their ability to extend the duration of sexual relations," she said in between kisses.

Trip pulled back and grinned at her.

"Not always. Sometimes it's fun to work on a deadline."

Trip glanced over at the chronometer, which read 0607.

"We'll give ourselves twenty-three minutes. That'll leave twenty more to get rearranged and ten minutes to get to the bridge. We should be there will time to spare."

She nodded.

"Enough talk," she said, helping him divest her of her uniform.

They fell together on the bed, and soon Trip used all his engineer's skill at time management and his familiarity with the mechanics of her body to make certain she appreciated his efficiency. She came with a cry, trembling as he thrust deeply into her. Soon, he came as well and collapsed on top of her. As soon as he was capable of coherent thought, he checked the time.

"Okay," he said, "We're ahead of schedule. It's 0627."

"Excellent," she whispered back, her eyes still closed.

Gradually and in synch with one another, their breathing returned to normal. By 0630, they leapt up and began cleaning up and dressing. By 0650, they were out the door and all business.

As Trip disappeared into his ready room at 0667, he turned to T'Pol.

"Have a good day, Commander."

"You too, Captain."

Hoshi, who was at the comm, was testing a new message encryption system. She sent a message to Malcolm, who was working in the armory.

_They totally did it before work this morning. They were just a little too casual with each other when they arrived. _

_They're married, love, of course they do it in the morning before work. At least a few times a week. _

_In that case, can I ask you to write that into our vows? Specifically? _

_It would be my pleasure. _

_

* * *

_

Several hours later, T'Pol received word that an encrypted message had arrived for her from somewhere on the space station. She thought it best to access the message from the armory, and she made her way there and situated herself at a workstation. She brought up the message. Javon had a report of Ravel's possible location.

T'Pol responded that she would return to the station shortly.

"Lt. Commander Reed," she said, "Javon claims to have information regarding Ravel's location. However, as near as I can determine, she is not yet on the station. Javon wishes to discuss that matter in person. I think it would be best if you accompanied me to the station to meet with him."

Malcolm nodded.

"Will you want to bring Tirak with us?"

T'Pol shook her head.

"He is highly emotional when it comes to the subject of Ravel. I believe he will not maintain his cover if he joins us. From the context of the message, I do not believe Ravel's circumstances are positive."

Malcolm began to gather some gear for the excursion. They had learned the hard way to bring transporter jammers, tracking beacons and extra communicators when they went to the station.

"What do you mean? Did he give you a hint?"

"Vulcans don't hint. However, the absence of confirmation of her well-being indicates the lack thereof."

Malcolm nodded.

"I think it should just be you and me, not a security team. There's been some incidents on the station lately with civilians attacking military personnel. We should wear civilian attire again, and try to blend in."

"Shall we depart at 1300 hours?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I shall alert the Captain of our plan. If he has no objection, we shall leave at 1300 hours."

With that, T'Pol turned on her heels and left.

* * *

At 12:15, Hoshi and Malcolm met in the commissary for lunch. They found a table for two in the corner and situated themselves close to one another as they ate. They had made no secret of their relationship, but they hadn't yet made an official announcement.

"How long to you think you'll be over there?" asked Hoshi.

Malcolm shook his head.

"It's difficult to say. I don't suspect very long. Javon does't trust our encryptions so he's not wanting to send anything that could be useful _-_ to anyone - over the comm system."

Hoshi rolled her eyes.

"Our encryptions would challenge the Vulcans' encryptions any day of the week. All you need to do to crack a Vulcan code is search for the most logical patterns overlayed on other logical patterns. It's tough stuff, but it's not impossible. I prefer my codes with a dash of chaos here and there."

"That makes sense, by the way, Javon is the most chaotic Vulcan I've ever seen. . .anyway, I downloaded a marriage license last night. I filled it out, but it needs your digital signature before we can send it to Starfleet."

"But it will only be good for six weeks. . .you want to get married in the next six weeks?"

Malcolm nodded.

"I know your parents will want to have a big celebration when we get back to Earth. But I don't think there's time to wait. Whatever happens in the next few months and years with this war. . .I want you to be my wife."

Hoshi took a sip of water, and her hand trembled a bit. They both knew why people tended to get married more often in a time of war.

"Okay," she said, "I can't wait to see the look on the Captain's face. I'm pretty sure he's never performed a wedding ceremony."

"Maybe we could ask him to do a tea ceremony?"

Hoshi laughed.

"No. . .no. Too easy. There's a tribe of humanoids on Alpha Centari that has a four hour ceremony that culminates in the officiant burning tattoos into the bride and groom with an hot iron. We should ask for that. Or maybe an Xindi Aquatic ceremony - underwater and in Aquatic. But it's only about twenty minutes. We'd have to wear scuba gear, of course."

Malcolm laughed.

"I'll ask him for the standard British civil ceremony. I think he can handle it," said Malcolm, "Unless you would rather have a Japanese one."

"No. The simpler the better, but you know," said Hoshi, "Starfleet should really develop its own ceremony. With all the ships away from Earth for months at a time, more and more people are going to pair off. Maybe I'll take a look at the text of the British one and see if I can make it more generic Terran, so to speak."

Malcolm smiled.

"You do that love," he said, "In the meantime, T'Pol and I must be off to the station."

* * *

Several hours later, T'Pol and Malcolm sat across from Javon in the little cafe in the Vulcan section of the station. Javon showed her a PADD of information, written in Vulcan.

"You believe this to be accurate? And the woman in question to be Ravel?"

Javon nodded.

"We can't be 100% sure, but the V'Shar put out word that we were seeking a woman of Ravel's description and that we would pay handsomely for her safe delivery."

T'Pol turned to Malcolm.

"A group of Orions are in possession of a female that matches Ravel's description. She was apparently apprehended in a section of the no-man's land just beyond Romulan space. Refugees from the Empire make good targets, and a female traveling alone, even one as well-trained and armed as Ravel, would be an easy target."

If T'Pol was remembering her own time in the hands of the Orions, she showed no sign of it.

"They obviously want an excessive amount for her," he said, "I've been authorized to pay the amount upon proof of her identity. You've only met her once, but would you be able to identify her?"

T'Pol nodded.

"Can we arrange for the transfer to take place here on the station?"

"No," said Javon, "The Orions have been banned from this place, ever since the Alliance took possession of it. I have suggested the barren wasteland that used to be the Romulan mining colony as an alternate site. It's heavily guarded and properly desolate. As long as the Orions don't believe we intend to interfere with their business, they should agree. My . . .companion Arian has agreed to act as as an intermediary."

"I shall also bring Tirak," said T'Pol, "He is acquainted with our target, and she trusts him. She will be more manageable if he is present."

Javon turned to Malcolm.

"I don't think I need to tell you that a large security contingent will be the order of the day," said Javon as he sipped on his Vulcan tea.

Malcolm shook his head, and Javon turned to T'Pol.

"_Enterprise_'s shuttlepods are too small for our purposes. There's slightly larger, better, well-armed transport available for hire on the station. It should hold you, Tirak, Mr. Reed and his security team comfortably. With more than ample room for Arian and myself."

T'Pol glanced at Malcolm.

"Provided Mr. Reed's security team has ample access to the transport prior to our departure, that idea has merit."

"When will this exchange happen?"

"The Orions say they can be here in four days," said Javon, "That's enough time for me to obtain the funds to secure our target."

T'Pol and Malcolm nodded, and they began to hammer out details of the plan.

* * *

Malcolm and T'Pol walked through the busy halls of _Enterprise_. The ship was more crowded since two dozen of _The_ _Columbia_ crew had been billeted on _Enterprise_ during the repairs.

"I hate supporting the Orions," said Malcolm, "Part of me wants to just up and rescue Ravel, rather than handing all that money to them."

T'Pol had her hands clasped behind her back.

"That would be illogical, Lt. Commander Reed," said T'Pol, "Paying the money will be the most efficient and least risky means by which to secure Ravel."

"That doesn't make it right, Commander," replied Malcolm, "I used to think humans were above slavery. . .or supporting those who engage in it."

"Think of it as paying a ransom for her freedom," said T'Pol, "Although, I don't know what kind of freedom she will eventually be granted."

"I'll do that," said Malcolm bitterly, "but it won't help."

"I will be briefing the Captain of the situation. Afterwards, he will no doubt wish to be briefed of your team's plans to help secure the mission."

With that, T'Pol headed up to the Ready Room and Malcolm to the armory.

* * *

Hours later, T'Pol sat across from her brother in the mess hall. She marveled the range of emotions that crossed his face as she explained Ravel's situation and their plan to retrieve her. She cataloged a mixture of relief, rage, fear and disgust at what she had told him. She wondered if anyone on the ship actually thought he was a Vulcan, V'osh Ka'tur or not.

"She will likely be treated well," said T'Pol, "Since the Orions know of her value, they will not wish to damage her."

Enme leaned over the table and was clearly not even trying to look Vulcan.

"If one hair on her head is damaged, I'll rip every Orion on that colony apart with my bare hands," he said.

"Her captivity will be an unpleasant experience for her, but she will likely be unharmed," replied T'Pol smoothly.

She then told him all about her experience as a captive of the Orions, which only seemed to make Enme more enraged.

"What does the Captain think of you dealing with them again?"

"He believes since I am immune to the special properties of the Orion females, I am an ideal person to lead the team. You and the rest of the male members of the security team will be inoculated against the effects prior to our departure."

Enme picked at his plate, which was piled with pasta.

"Have you ever eaten this, sister?" he asked, "It's most peculiar. It's slivers of bread, dried then boiled then drained - then covered with sauce."

"I have tried it. It contains far too much starch for my liking."

"I did enjoy the fish from yesterday, what was it called. . .catfish."

"That is the Captain's favorite dish. The fish is native to his region of Earth," she replied.

"Speaking of which, why aren't you dining with the Captain?" asked Enme.

"He's dining with Captain Hernandez and her acting Chief Engineer this evening. They are discussing the repairs to _The Columbia_ in detail. It was not necessary for me to attend."

"How long are we to be stuck here at this station? Assuming we retrieve Ravel?"

"That all depends on the repairs of _The Columbia_," she replied, "Once she is fit enough to make the journey back to Earth, we will no doubt be given new orders."

Enme nodded. Both of them knew that his time on the ship, and the relative freedom that came with it, was short. To her surprise, T'Pol found the notion of parting from her brother disagreeable.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Trip finally arrived home to his quarters. _The Columbia _repairs were progressing but issue after issue kept popping up, and he and Erika had to deal with each of them in tandem. He found T'Pol in bed, reading a paper book. It was her well-read copy of _The Teachings of Surak_.

"Good evening," she said softly.

"Feels good to be home," he said, "I'm beat. Wound up but beat. I'm sure glad _The Columbia_ managed to hobble here - she was in worse shape than we were after Azati Prime. If she had been much farther away from help - it would have been ugly."

Trip felt T'Pol's eyes on him as he readied himself for bed. She listened patiently as he chatted about the engines of _The Columbia_ and how they planned on getting the warp drive back on line so they could make the trip to Jupiter Station.

"You always did enjoy challenging repairs," she said.

"I like them better when they are on someone else's ship," he said, "Especially now that I'm the Captain of this one."

He climbed in bed next to her.

"You require neural pressure," she said as she placed her book carefully on the night stand.

"What makes you say that?"

She sighed and reached a hand up to brush his face gently.

"You are simultaneously exhausted and overstimulated. You require sleep, but your restlessness will prevent that."

Trip pulled off his t-shirt and rolled over.

"Couldn't we try something else to help me sleep?" he said as she began to apply pressure with her fingers.

"If this fails," she said soothingly.

It didn't fail, and soon he was in a deep, pleasant sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

_Disclaimer: See previous chapter disclaimers about this being all in good fun._

_Rating: R for profane language and violence._

_A/N: Plot moves forth. One more chapter and an epilogue to go._

* * *

Malcolm stared at T'Pol, who was taking an inventory of the weaponry that the security team would bring first to the station then on the leased transport that would take them to the mining colony. There, they would pay the Orions for Ravel.

Malcolm tapped his foot with impatience, and then he drummed his fingers on the console. He wanted to ask her something, but T'Pol was never much inclined to personal conversations. Still, this was both personal and business.

"May I ask you a somewhat personal question, Commander?"

T'Pol looked up. She was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"How did you approach Admiral Archer about you and the Captain getting married? As far as I've heard, Starfleet simply accepted you two — regulations be damned."

T'Pol stepped closer to Malcolm. He assumed she knew exactly why he was bringing this up.

"Our marriage took place on Vulcan," said T'Pol, "and we chose not to inform Starfleet until the ceremony was complete. However, at the time of our marriage we held the same rank, our personal relationship was not against regulations."

Malcolm nodded.

"How did you bring up the subject when you returned?"

"We didn't need to do so. We registered as a mated couple on the transport from Vulcan. When Starfleet began investigating our disappearance, they discovered the marriage and informed Admiral Archer."

Malcolm shifted restlessly from one foot to the other.

"How did he react?"

"When _Enterprise_ retrieved us after our abduction, Admiral Archer informed us that he had requested that we be able to continue to serve together on his ship. Starfleet agreed, as long as Admiral Archer felt our personal relationship did not interfere with our service to the ship."

"He never said anything more than that?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"No," she said, "and he was most gracious in allowing us to combine living spaces."

Malcolm was silent.

"So you never had any problems?"

"No," she replied.

"But you also never asked anyone for permission, either. They couldn't have been pleased with that. And you had to have worried that they wouldn't react well to two married officers."

T'Pol tapped into her PADD and then looked up at Malcolm.

"Prior to our marriage, the Captain and I discussed the possibility that Starfleet would object. We both agreed that if Starfleet refused to let us serve together or took other punitive action, we would leave its service."

Malcolm searched T'Pol's face, knowing he wouldn't find any hint of emotion regarding what must have been a very tough decision for them. He was silent for awhile.

"Lt. Commander Reed," said T'Pol, "Is this your round about way of informing me that you have become engaged to marry Lt. Sato?"

Malcolm sighed.

"Did she tell you?"

"No," said T'Pol, glancing down at the simple titanium band she wore on her left finger "but she's been wearing a jeweled ring on her left finger. This is a human betrothal custom. I am also aware that you two are pursuing a romantic relationship."

Malcolm smiled.

"There are no secrets on this ship. There never have been," said Malcolm wryly, thinking of the rumors about T'Pol and Trip that flourished in The Expanse.

"Lt. Sato reports to me directly. She is not in your chain of command. I will not object to the marriage if Starfleet or the Captain asks my opinion."

Malcolm leaned over.

"How do you think Trip will react?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. Malcolm smiled. Trip wouldn't object as long as they didn't interfere with the ship's operations. How could he? It was Starfleet they had to worry about.

"I believe the Captain will be supportive. He knows that stable personal relationships can benefit crew efficiency and morale."

Malcolm smiled, remembering the chaos that had ensued when Trip and T'Pol had broken up. It nearly caused Trip to leave the ship, not to mention creating all sorts of tension. Breakups were far more detrimental to crew dynamics than happy marriages.

"We want to get married soon," said Malcolm, "I'm going to ask him to marry us as soon as we return from the colony."

The puzzled look on T'Pol's face was priceless.

"It's a human tradition. The captain of a ship can officiate weddings. It applies to space faring vessels just as it did to Terran sailing vessels. Travis once told me he'd seen his father perform at least four weddings. Hoshi and I don't want anything special, but we thought a dinner in the mess hall with everyone there would be fun. Nothing fancy. But Chef's going to want your permission for that."

T'Pol nodded.

"If the Captain agrees," said T'Pol, "I'll give my permission. . . Lt. Reed, the circumstances surrounding my marriage to the Captain were . . .unusual. Vulcan tradition considered us married before any ceremony was performed, and Ambassador Soval informed Starfleet Command of that. They made little objection to . . .the bond between the Captain and myself becoming official because they didn't wish to create a diplomatic incident. Any rejection of me as the Captain's wife could have been construed as an insult to my honor. . .Admiral Archer also told us that because I am Vulcan, Starfleet also believes that I am capable of making sure our relationship does not adversely affect ship's operations."

Malcolm thought about this for a moment. This was the most he had ever heard T'Pol speak about her marriage, and it wasn't much. But he realized she was telling him that Starfleet might not be as supportive of his impending nuptials.

"Well," said Malcolm, "We'll just have to make sure that Starfleet sees the wisdom in allowing married human couples serve together. Both Hoshi and I are valuable to the war effort. . .and I doubt they'd be able to easily replace us."

Malcolm hoped that his intention was clear. It seemed it was when T'Pol nodded.

"I'll see you at the airlock in two hours, Lt. Commander Reed," she said as she left the armory.

****

T'Pol entered the Ready Room and found Trip sitting at his desk staring grimly at the monitor screen. She sensed something had unsettled him. She stood formally in front of his desk in at ease position.

"Captain," she said, "Is everything all right?"

Trip shook his head no.

"This is a communique from Starfleet Command. There are six drone ships on their way — gunning to destroy this station. They should be here within 48 hours."

T'Pol nodded.

"I'll cancel the retrieval mission," said T'Pol, "I'm sure the Orions will be willing to wait until after the coming encounter."

"That won't be necessary. Archer is on his way here with the whole fleet. They'll be here in ten hours. The station will be well-defended. _Enterprise_ is going to provide tactical support, but the newer battle-ready ships are going to face the drones head on. Our job will be to protect _The Columbia_, which is still crippled. Starfleet doesn't want her destroyed, sitting duck that she is. In the meantime, the boys at intelligence want Ravel. So, your mission is still on. But you and your team to stay out of the melee. You're not to even leave the mining colony until you get clearance from me. That's an order. "

T'Pol furrowed her brow. She understood what a "sitting duck" was from context, but this was the first she had heard the metaphor. Trip smiled a little at her, and he knew what she was thinking.

"I'm glad my human metaphors can still surprise you, at least," he said.

"Are you sure you won't need me? Malcolm can handle the retrieval, and I'll stay here."

"No," said Trip, "Malcolm hates the Orions. Doesn't trust Javon. And your brother has reason to hate Malcolm. I'd rather have you here, but it's better if you go and complete your mission. We'll be fine. When the fleet arrives, we'll have the drones outgunned."

T'Pol nodded. She didn't like the idea of being away from the ship during a battle, but his arguments were logical.

"One more thing, Captain. Lt. Commander Reed intends to marry Lt. Sato when we return from mining colony. I expect he will inform you soon, perhaps even before we leave this afternoon."

Trip grinned.

"I noticed the rock Hoshi's been sporting. I figured that'd be coming. . . I guess that means I'll be performing a wedding. . . .that'll be fun."

T'Pol nodded.

"Starfleet Command may not be so enthusiastic," replied T'Pol.

"Well," replied Trip, "it's not like we can stop them. They're two grown adults. I'll talk to the Admiral about it when things cool off. I'm sure he'll smooth things over. He did for us."

T'Pol didn't share his optimism, but she said nothing.

"Are you about all set to leave?" he asked.

"The preparations are complete," said T'Pol.

Trip glanced over at the chronometer.

"Very well, Commander. Dismissed."

"Thank you, Captain," said T'Pol, and she turned and headed back to the bridge.

****

Later that afternoon, T'Pol found herself on the bridge of a transport ship. The ship itself was about four times as big as a shuttlepod, and in addition to the bridge, it included three cabins, a galley and bathroom facilities. The chairs, chaises and tables arranged in each cabin designed for comfort and T'Pol's nose could detect a slight tobacco smell behind the antiseptics that had been used to scrub down the ship. The bridge was small, with only room for three people.

On one side of her was Malcolm and on the other was her brother, dressed in his Vulcan attire. Malcolm's security team were ensconced in the largest of the back compartments. They were simply waiting for Javon and Arian to arrive. The V'Shar agent and his Orion girlfriend were late, which irritated T'Pol, since Vulcans believed in punctuality. As if he was reading her thoughts, Enme spoke.

"I thought you Vulcans were monochronic," he said.

Malcolm looked confused.

"Meaning you show up precisely on time," said Enme, "My people are a little different. If you are requested to show up for dinner at seven in the evening, then you'd best not show until nine. It would be rude, otherwise. Perhaps your Javon has a little of us Romulans in him."

T'Pol glared at her brother.

"Javon has no doubt been delayed," she said, "The situation on the station is chaotic."

As if on cue, there was a commotion in the back compartment. Malcolm smiled, and T'Pol marched back to assess the situation. When she arrived, she saw Javon and Arian, both dressed in traditional, ornate Vulcan robes. They had several suitcases with them, and Arian was carrying a small animal of some kind. T'Pol didn't recognize the furry creature, but it appeared feline rather than canine yet it made a soft howl as it wiggled in its mistress's arms.

Javon turned to T'Pol.

"Arian heard a rumor that there are drone ships on their way to destroy the station. She wouldn't leave behind Moppet."

Moppet sneezed and then let out a faint whine. T'Pol realized that she somewhat missed Porthos, and then turned to Javon.

"The third cabin is yours. There will be plenty of room for all three of you."

"Very good," said Javon, "I hear the fleet is on its way. Let me know if Starfleet would like some recommendations for entertainment venues on the station. I'm sure Arian can provide plenty of recommendations."

"Of that I have no doubt," said T'Pol as she turned and headed back to the bridge. The sooner they were underway, the sooner the exchange could be made and she could return to the ship.

***

The next day, Trip sat on the bridge of the _Enterprise_. Admiral Archer appeared on the viewscreen before him.

"How's it going Trip?" he said, smiling.

"All is well," he said, "_The Columbia_ has been evacuated. A third of her crew are aboard _Enterprise_, the rest I believe have boarded your ship."

"Erika says thanks for taking care of her ship. She's furious we ordered an evacuation, but with no weapons on line, it's the safest thing for her crew. Hopefully, the drones will concentrate on the station. Have you heard from T'Pol?"

Trip nodded.

"The exchange will happen at 1100 hours. Then, they'll wait until the all clear to return to the station. The V'Shar has been notified, as has Starfleet Intelligence - per your orders."

Archer nodded.

"Very good. Also, you'll see that the drone ETA has been stepped up. We expect them at 1123. Inform your crew."

"Yes, sir," said Trip, and he glanced around his bridge.

Malcolm's number 2, Lt. Carson was at tactical, but Trip decided to replace her with _The Columbia_'s chief tactical officer, Lt. Soo. Soo had been on duty during the drone attack that had crippled _The Columbia_ and had developed a strong tactical defense system for NX class ships.

Travis was at the helm, and Hoshi was on the comm. The only vacant position was the science station, and he would call down and have Lt. Leara Drake take that position. He wished that T'Pol would be there during his first real battle as Captain as she was highly experience at space combat, but on the other hand, he was happy that she was safe on the mining colony, surrounded by a robust security team.

Trip took a deep breath and glanced at the chronometer. The drones would be there in less than an hour.

****

Admiral Jonathan Archer sat in his ready room, staring out at the station and the twin NX Starships that were docked at her. Even though his current ready room was double the size of his old one, part of him wished he was still on_Enterprise_ as the battle approached. His big, lumbering ship was certainly better armed, but it wasn't as maneuverable and would mostly be providing support for the small, swift battle cruisers that would be going after the drones.

Instinctively, he reached down into a cabinet under his desk and grabbed a bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a drink — but he didn't sip. He just stared at it as he stared out his window.

"Do you think you should be drinking this early? It's not even noon," said Erika, who had appeared in his doorway.

He said nothing, but he poured the drink back into the bottle.

"Oh. . .and there's a about to be a rather large space battle," she continued, "One that you are in command of."

Archer folded his arms. She approached the edge of the desk, and she folded her arms right back at him.

"Was that your first one? Or do I have to call the doctor to relieve you?" she continued.

Archer wanted to snap at her, tell her that she was out of line. He wanted to throw her in the brig. He could do that. He was the Admiral of this fleet.

But there was no judgement in her eyes, only concern and . . .strangely enough support. She was protecting him. He wasn't the most astute of men when it came to feelings, but he realized that.

"That was my first one," he said, "I'm stone cold sober."

Erika softened her stance.

"Good," she said, "Then there's nothing more to discuss. At least until after the battle. Then, if you want to talk about starting on anti-intoxicating meds, I'll be there to listen. Off the record. As your former girlfriend, not your subordinate."

Archer sighed with relief. Erika wouldn't say anything, unless she felt like she had to. She was in his corner.

"I want you on the bridge with me, Captain," said Archer, "I'll be depending on your expertise with drone ships."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Dismissed, Captain."

Erika turned on her heel and exited the ready room. Archer then did something that he thought was somewhat sacrilegious. He took the bottle of Kentucky bourbon from under his desk and tossed it in the recycler. He winced, but until he talked to the doctor he couldn't have that temptation around.

He also thought about suggesting that Starfleet relax some of its fraternization rules. As long as Erika's ship wasn't in his fleet, there shouldn't be an issue.

***

T'Pol stared in mute horror at the woman the Orions presented to her. Ravel was curled up in a ball between the two landing parties, having been unceremoniously dumped there by one of the big Orions. Big, bronze bruises marred her face, her clothes were in tatters and her hair was tangled and matted. She also wore one of the odious Orion control collars. T'Pol felt a hint of emotion welling up deep inside her psyche, but she suppressed it. Nevertheless, she was disquieted by the memory of the competent and strong woman who had abducted her and Trip.

Standing next to her, her brother started swearing in Romulan. T'Pol's Romulan vocabulary was limited, but she recognized his words as profane from his inflections.

"Be calm, brother," whispered T'Pol, "She is alive, and she will be safe soon enough. But you must confirm her identity before Arian makes the exchange."

The were all standing on what once had been the Romulan Mining Colony's launch pad. T'Pol stood with her brother, Malcolm stood behind her with his security team and to the left of them were Arian and Javon.

Enme shouted something in Romulan to Ravel. She shouted something back.

"It's her," said Enme in English.

T'Pol nodded at Arian, who took the case with the payment and placed it next to Ravel.

"Now remove the collar," said Arian, so forcefully that everyone, except Javon, appeared surprised.

The big Orion did as Arian ordered, then he took the case and checked its contents. He nodded at one of the Orion females.

"Our business is concluded," said the female to Arian.

Arian nodded. In mere minutes, the Orions boarded their ship and the door shut behind them. As it began to take off, Enme went and knelt next to Ravel. He gathered her into his arms and started speaking to her in Romulan. She returned his embrace and then allowed him to help her to her feet.

"She needs medical attention," said Enme, "They shot down her ship and haven't even checked her for internal injuries."

"The Vulcan ship that is in orbit has plentiful medical facilities. They'll take good care of her. They know far more about Romulan physiology than the humans," said Javon.

"Our doctor is Denobulan," said T'Pol, "and he is an expert in humanoid biodiversity."

T'Pol glanced at Malcolm, and he glanced back at her. With only a look, they each conveyed their surprise at the presence of a Vulcan vessel in orbit.

Javon approached T'Pol and handed her a PADD.

"You'll see here that the Vulcans have been granted custody of the Romulan spy Ravel. As you know, she spent years undercover on Vulcan, and the V'Shar as well as the government at large wishes to know exactly what she reported to her former commanders."

Enme looked at T'Pol.

"It was my understanding that _Enterprise_ was ordered to retrieve Ravel," said T'Pol.

"And you've fulfilled that order," said Javon, "and the V'Shar and the Vulcan government thanks you for your service. You'll see from the orders on that PADD that Starfleet Intelligence has approved of the V'Shar taking custody of the second defector."

Enme spoke briskly to Ravel, who turned to T'Pol.

"I request formal asylum from Starfleet," said Ravel in Vulcan, "I wish to defect to Earth not Vulcan."

T'Pol closed her eyes but just briefly.

"As a Starfleet officer," said T'Pol, "I must at least notify Starfleet Command of her request. Admiral Jonathan Archer is in the vicinity. I will make the request of him."

Javon shook his head.

"Admirals higher up than him have already made this decision," said Javon in English.

"You treacherous mother-fucker," said Enme in English, "You cocksucking bastard," he shouted.

Malcolm looked at T'Pol.

"You didn't teach him those words, did you Commander?"

"No," she said, "but it is possible that your fiance did. You might want to have a talk with her."

"Indeed," said Malcolm.

Meanwhile, Arian stepped between Enme and Javon.

"He doesn't practice incest or homosexual relations. And I'm in a position to know," she said firmly.

"The Vulcan ship is waiting to transport her," said Javon.

T'Pol took Javon to one side.

"The defectors are more likely to cooperate if they are together," said T'Pol, "It is unwise to keep them separated."

Javon whispered in her ear.

"Your regard for your brother is clouding your judgment, T'Pol. The possibility of seeing her someday might just be more conducive to his cooperation and less conducive to the two of them conspiring against us."

T'Pol glared at Javon.

"I disagree. . . ."

T'Pol couldn't finish. She felt a searing pain in her head, but she reached up to find no wound on it. Blackness consumed her and she fell to the ground.

***

On _Enterprise_, Hoshi knelt next to Trip, who had a head wound from flying debris. He was out cold, and Hoshi immediately flashed back to his time in The Expanse and his coma. It couldn't be a good thing that he had more head trauma. She used her hand to compress the bleeding.

"Lt. Drake," ordered Hoshi, "Call down to sickbay. Tell Phlox what has happened. The Captain needs to be taken to sickbay. Travis, evasive pattern 3B."

"Yes, ma'am," said Travis.

After Drake had called sickbay, Hoshi called her over so she could continue compressing Trip's head wound. Hoshi hoped the injury wasn't too severe, and she crawled up into the big chair. One of the drone ships had been gunning for _The Columbia_, and it appeared that Trip's targeting of its impulse engines with close range modified phase canon blasts had worked, but the move had created a kickback that had shaken the ship and wounded her captain

Nevertheless, the Captain had succeeded in protecting _The Columbia _and had crippled one of the drones. Hoshi just needed to finish the job.

"Soo," said Hoshi, "target the drone's warp core. We shouldn't have to get that close this time to destroy it."


	30. Chapter 30

_**Disclaimer: This is not my world. Paramount owns it. No profit made.**_

_**Rating: PG-13**_

_**A/N: Last Chapter! But an epilogue is coming because we do have to see the forthcoming wedding.**_

T'Pol opened her eyes, and she found herself on a familiar Florida beach, though she had never physically been there. The air was clean, if salty, and a cool breeze blew. T'Pol looked around and saw no other humanoids. She remembered this place was Trip's white space, but she didn't see him. Instinctively, she walked towards the dunes, and there she found him, sprawled on a blanket in a small valley between the dunes.

"Trip," she said, "what happened?"

"Dunno," he said, "Soo told me that we'd crippled a drone ship that was gunning for _The Columbi_a. Next thing I know, I wake up here. I'm glad you came. I missed you."

T'Pol didn't tell him that she hadn't arrived on purpose. There would be time for that later. She knelt down next to him and examined his head. In least in his mind, there was no visible injury.

"You've been wounded," she said, "It's a head wound."

"I do have a splitting headache," he sighed, "I wish Phlox was here."

T'Pol assumed that Phlox was probably treating Trip at that very moment. She checked his vital signs, they weren't robust but they weren't faint either.

"You need to focus your mind on healing your body," she said, "I can help."

Trip closed his eyes, smiling dreamily.

"Okay," he said, "I can do that. . . ."

She took his hand.

"Allow me to help you," she said.

T'Pol knew that the only way she would get out of this white space was if Trip's body healed. As long as his subconscious mind thought it needed her, she wouldn't be able to leave. She used their telepathic link to send as much energy to Trip's mind and body as she could. The stronger she could make him, the quicker he would heal and she could return to her body.

"Just once I'd like to get another kind of wound. . .maybe in the leg or arm or something simple like that," he whispered.

"That would certainly be less intrusive," said T'Pol softly, humoring his illogical desire to control the types of injuries his body sustained.

"Rest now," she continued in a whisper, "concentrate on getting well."

Trip inhaled and smiled.

"I'm glad you're here, baby," he said.

****

Malcolm's trained eyes immediately assessed the situation. His CO was collapsed at his feet and his battered retrieval target had asked for asylum, though a Vulcan ship was about to transport her away. Malcolm glanced down an T'Pol's unconscious form and noticed she was breathing. He ordered his team to aim their phase pistols at Arian and Javon.

"Downing," barked Malcolm to his second, "See to the Commander."

With that, Malcolm stepped around T'Pol and approached Enme and Ravel. Malcolm removed a small device from his belt and tossed it to Enme.

"Pin that to her clothes," he said, "and make sure it's switched on."

Enme nodded. The entire landing party had been issued transporter jammers. Since Hoshi and T'Pol had been kidnapped on the station, Malcolm had made it standard practice for any personnel on away missions to carry one. He had even thought of making sure he and his team had extras.

Enme did as Reed commanded, fastening the device to Ravel's arm as he spoke softly to her in Romulan.

"Don't be a fool, human," said Javon, "You clearly need to get T'Pol medical treatment, you're only delaying the inevitable and putting your commanding officer at risk for a Romulan spy."

Malcolm glanced down at T'Pol.

"How is she?"

"It's almost as though she's asleep, sir," said Downing, "She's breathing and has a strong pulse. She's just out cold."

Malcolm nodded. T'Pol didn't appear at death's door, but he had no way of knowing what alien or Vulcan sickness had overtaken her and thought it prudent to get her back to _Enterprise_ and sickbay as soon as possible.

"Check the information I gave to T'Pol, Mr. Reed," said Javon, "You'll see it's legitimate. Contact your Starfleet. Your superiors will order you to hand over Ravel."

Malcolm glanced down at the PADD that had fallen from T'Pol's hands when she collapsed. As he approached it, he stomped his boot on the device. It broke with a crack.

"So sorry Javon. . ." he said, "It seems that your PADD is damaged. We're going to have to take Ravel to _Enterprise_ to confirm whatever orders we get from Starfleet. I suggest you transport up to the Vulcan ship with Arian. And Moppet. My team can help you with your luggage. I don't think there will be enough room on the transport for the two of you now that we've picked up Ravel."

Malcolm glanced at the petite Romulan woman, who was about T'Pol's size. He also looked up at T'Pol's brother, who locked eyes with him.

_Don't do anything stupid mate_, thought Malcolm, _I've got this covered_.

Enme acknowledged him with a blink.

"It's quite obvious she's going to take up a lot of room," continued Malcolm.

Malcolm studied Javon carefully. This was a man who knew how to take care of himself and get what he wanted, but he was also a man wise enough not to move against six well-trained Starfleet officers with phase pistols pointed at him.

Malcolm ordered one of his men to remove Javon and Arian's luggage. That went smoothly, but Moppet did bite the Ensign as he brought the creature from the transport ship. With fingers bleeding, he placed Moppet on the ground and the creature dashed toward his mistress. Arian scooped up her pet.

"Be careful with those cases," she said to the Ensign who was lining up their luggage on the opposite side of the landing pad.

Javon sighed. To his surprise, Malcolm saw emotion in the man's face. Not human emotion, but a kind of Vulcan contempt he hasn't seen since the days before _Enterprise_'s maiden launch.

"We'll be in touch with the Vulcan ship as soon as we return to _Enterprise_," said Malcolm, "Tirak, take Ravel aboard the transport."

For a split second, Enme was puzzled at the sound of his Vulcan name, but then he quickly led Ravel up to the door of the transport, which remained open, and they disappeared inside.

Javon shrugged.

"You've only delayed the inevitable transfer," said Javon, "and Earth needs allies at this point."

"So does Vulcan," said Malcolm, who turned his attention to T'Pol. "Can she be carried onto the ship?"

Malcolm knew Downing had training as medic.

"I think so, sir," said Downing, "Again, she doesn't appear hurt. Just asleep."

Malcolm nodded.

"Make it so," he said, with his best British-get-things-done formality.

Downing scooped the Vulcan and carried her into the transport ship. Then, Malcolm and his team back slowly into the ship. His eyes didn't leave Javon's until the door closed.

****

Phlox stood over the wounded Captain of _Enterprise_, examining the scans taken by the imaging chamber. The gash on on the left side of Trip's head had been stitched up and cleaned by Phlox's osmotic eel, but he had lost a good deal of blood, and he had a concussion.

"Is he going to wake up soon?" asked Hoshi, who was still in shock to be the acting Captain.

"Not until tomorrow," said Phlox, "I've induced his coma so that the Captain can recover from his injury. As you well know, this isn't his first head trauma, and I want to be extra careful."

Hoshi nodded. The battle had been over for several hours, and all the drone ships had been destroyed.

"Have you heard from Commander T'Pol?" asked Phlox, "I assume she'll want to be informed of the Captain's condition."

Hoshi shook her head.

"Nobody's been at the comm since . . .I got in the big chair," said Hoshi, "I'll head back to the bridge. I know the landing party isn't even supposed to head back here until they've got clearance. I probably better go do that."

Phlox nodded and returned to his patient.

"Good luck, Lieutenant," said Phlox as the acting captain rushed back toward the bridge.

***

Aboard the transport, Malcolm studied the senors. A Vulcan ship was most certainly in orbit around the mining colony. So were two Tellarite ships and one Andorian cruiser, assigned to guard the colony and its dilithium deposits.

Enme appeared on the bridge and sat down next to Malcolm.

"T'Pol is still asleep," he said, "but she doesn't appear to be in immediate danger. Ensign Downing doesn't want to risk trying to revive her with a stimulant until the ship's doctor has a chance to determine what's wrong with her."

Malcolm sighed. It sounded wise.

"How's Ravel?" he asked.

"Downing scanned her for internal injuries," said Enme, "She has a fractured bone in her shoulder, a fractured wrist and bruises everywhere. But he doesn't believe she's permanently damaged."

Malcolm was relieved. The poor woman looked as though she had been through quite an ordeal.

"Thank you," said Enme, "for intervening on behalf of Ravel. The Vulcans. . .would not be as kind to her as you humans would be. . .of that I'm sure," said Enme.

Malcolm nodded at the man. He spoke the truth, though Malcolm was sure the Vulcans wouldn't physically harm Ravel, he wasn't sure what mojo they would work with their mind melds to get information from her. He had read a Section 31 report that T'Pol had been seriously damaged by a botched mind meld. Only the skill of Administrator T'Pau had healed T'Pol, and Malcolm seriously doubted someone at T'Pau's level would be working on Ravel.

"I was only doing what I believed my Commander would have done had she been able. T'Pol made it clear she intended to pursue Ravel's asylum claim before her collapse. As a Starfleet officer, I'm obligated to try and carry out the wishes of an indisposed commanding officer."

Enme nodded, although Malcolm had a feeling the Romulan knew that he could have just as easily handed Ravel over. It probably would have been less trouble.

_Oh well_, thought Malcolm, _the crew of Enterprise never did shy away from trouble. I'm just carrying on the tradition started by Archer and continued by both Trip and T'Pol._

_****_

The leased transport docked straight at _Enterprise_'s airlock. Hoshi met them there, and Malcolm had never seen her look so relieved.

"Boy," said Hoshi, "am I glad to see you."

In a complete breach of protocol, Hoshi threw herself into Malcolm's arms.

"You're now acting Captain," she said, as though the embrace passed the mantle of command to Malcolm.

Malcolm looked back to see if anyone had seen the bear hug, and then he smiled softly.

"How's Trip?" he said in a low voice, so that none of his subordinates could hear him use the captain's familiar name.

"Phlox says he just needs time to heal. What's wrong with T'Pol?"

"She just collapsed. . .she appears to be in some kind of coma."

Malcolm and Hoshi looked at each other. Both of them knew about the Vulcan mating bond their commanding officers shared.

"Do you think Phlox knows about their telepathic bond?" asked Malcolm.

"You'd think it'd be in their medical files," said Hoshi, "but I'll tell him."

A couple of Phlox's assistants had brought a gurney for T'Pol, and they were wheeling her to sickbay.

"Do that," said Malcolm, "I've got to contact Admiral Archer. The Vulcan Javon tried to give custody of Ravel to the Vulcans, but she's asked for asylum here. Before she collapsed, T'Pol made clear her intent to petition Starfleet for her. Ravel made it known she doesn't want to be transferred to the Vulcans."

Hoshi's eyes widened.

"We'll straighten it out," said Malcolm.

Enme and Ravel stumbled out of the airlock together.

"Welcome aboard, Ravel," said Malcolm, "This is Lt. Sato, she's on her way to sickbay, and she can escort you and. . .Tirak there."

Malcolm gestured to Enme with his head, hoping a trained operative like Ravel would recognize the necessity of Enme being given a Vulcan name.

"Thank you, Mr. Reed," said Ravel softly.

Enme took her arm, and the two of them followed Hoshi down the corridor.

***

Trip was now sitting up. He sat cross legged across from T'Pol on a beach blanket. T'Pol had been attempting to help him meditate, so his physical body could better heal.

"How long you figure we've been here?"

"It's difficult to say. The passage of time here does not coincide with the physical world."

Trip took both her small hands into his.

"I'm feeling better," said Trip, "When I first got here I couldn't even sit up."

"Then it shouldn't be long until we're awake."

Trip sighed.

"T'Pol," he said, "_Enterprise_'s captain and first officer are both indisposed. You're supposed to be in charge if something happens to me. Well, somethin' happened and we're both stuck here when we're needed elsewhere. And there's a war on."

T'Pol nodded, her face a Vulcan mask.

"Perhaps Mr. Reed would be a better first officer."

Trip sighed.

"But you're the best first officer in Starfleet. You keep the ship running, darlin' I wouldn't be able to do my job on a daily basis without you, and I'm not just saying that because you're the love of my life."

T'Pol nodded again, silent.

"So, what's the logical solution, Miss Vulcan?"

"I will meditate on the matter," she said softly.

Trip didn't need a telepathic bond to recognize the faint hint of sadness in her voice. He knew that she figured whatever the logical solution was, he wasn't going to like it. He clutched her hands tighter in his big ones, and he he closed his eyes hoping that when he awoke he would be back on _Enterprise_ where he belonged.

****

Malcolm sat in the Ready Room, staring at Admiral Jonathan Archer's image on the monitor.

"She's not a prisoner," said Malcolm, "She's a defector, and she wants to defect to Earth and not Vulcan."

Archer shook his head. He didn't look happy.

"I agree with you Malcolm, but the top brass thinks this is a bone they can throw to the Vulcans. I'll bet the V'Shar is offering something big in exchange for Ravel, though I don't know what it is."

Malcolm bit his lip.

"Do we have any recourse? Can we appeal in a civilian court?"

Archer shook his head.

"This is a top secret military matter, remember? Nobody's even supposed to know what Romulans look like or know we have any contact with them at all."

Malcolm started to feel sick to his stomach. Enme had vouched for humans, and Ravel had trusted them.

"By the way," said Archer, "I'm ordering _Enterprise_ on a diplomatic mission to Denobula, asking them for assistance in building the coalition. Since you've got Phlox aboard, _Enterprise_ can bring a perspective no other ship can. It's a mission far more important than a run-of-the-mill prisoner transfer. You're to leave as soon as you can get under way. The Vulcans will just have to wait to get Ravel."

Malcolm smiled. A diplomatic mission to Denobula would take a few weeks, at least. It wasn't much, but it was time bought.

"Thank you, Admiral."

"Get going, Mr. Reed," said Archer with a smile, "I have no idea when the Vulcan ship might show up demanding a prisoner transfer, and you just don't have time to spare."

"Yes, sir," said Malcolm.

****

Trip's eyes fluttered open. He recognized the ceiling of sickbay. He had seen it enough times from the perspective of a biobed.

"Don't try and sit up, Captain," said Phlox, "Just tell me how you feel."

"Sleepy," said Trip, "but otherwise I feel okay."

Phlox smiled down at him, one of those creepy Denobulan smiles for which Trip had developed a fondness.

"I've given you a good dose of pain medication," said the doctor, "So, your head should not be bothering you."

"How's T'Pol?" asked Trip.

Phlox glanced behind him.

"You tell me. She seems to have lapsed into a coma at the same time you went unconscious. The Vulcan database is vague on the effects of mating bonds, but my guess is your telepathic link caused a sympathy coma in her."

Trip took a deep breath and gingerly felt his head wound, feeling a tinge of guilt.

"Not quite. My subconscious mind decided that my body needed her mental energy to help me heal. So, I pulled her into the coma with me without even realizing it."

Phlox's grin became even wider.

"And you two were able to discuss this while you were unconscious state? Fascinating! Utterly fascinating! Do you think the Commander would mind if I wrote a paper on this incident? There's so little data on the effect of a Vulcan mating bond — let alone an interspecies one! "

Trip looked over at the biobed next to him and saw T'Pol. She was still in a deep sleep.

"Can you wake her now?" asked Trip.

"I'll give her a stimulant if she doesn't come around in a few minutes, but I expect she'll awake on her own soon enough."

"Is Malcolm in the big chair?" asked Trip.

"He is," said Phlox, "He wanted to know when you were awake. He also wanted me to inform you that Admiral Archer has ordered _Enterprise_ to Denobula on a diplomatic mission. We're already heading there."

Trip paused. From the ship's hum, he guessed they were traveling at about Warp 4.5. Trip squinted his eyes a little, trying to think of a reason Jonathan would send them so far away from the action.

"I believe there's more going on that just what appears on the surface, Captain," said Phlox as though he was reading Trip's mind, "but Mr. Reed will want to inform you of the details."

Trip nodded.

"When can I return to duty?"

"If you promise to rest and keep your duty shifts to eight hours for the next week, you can return to duty tomorrow afternoon."

Trip nodded.

"Get Malcolm down here," he said.

"Yes, Captain," said Phlox as he headed for the comm.

***

Malcolm sat across from the two Romulan defectors in the captain's mess, a space he chose because it was private and it created the illusion that the two "Vulcans" aboard the ship were guests. Hoshi sat at his side.

"So," said Enme, "You've only bought a couple weeks. The Vulcans will still expect you to hand Ravel over."

Malcolm nodded, as Enme grabbed Ravel's hand.

The day before, Phlox had treated Ravel's wounds and told her to get bed rest. Malcolm had seen to it that she was assigned guest quarters next to the Vulcan Tirak. Not being a complete dove, Malcolm had also ordered his team to keep a close watch on their Vulcan guests. However, he also thought that after he had intervened on Ravel's behalf, there was little chance the two Romulans would betray him or T'Pol or him. Starfleet and the V'Shar were another matter, but Malcolm believed that both Enme and Ravel would consider it a dishonor to betray their protectors.

"When T'Pol awakens, and Phlox thinks she will shortly, we'll ask her if we have any recourse from the Vulcan side."

"Can't you just leave us on Denobula?" asked Ravel, "We'll disappear somewhere. No one will ever know."

Malcolm paused. Thus far, they had broken no rules, but letting to Romulans go scott free would have serious consequences.

"It may come to that, but you'd spend your lives on the run from both your own people and the Vulcans," interjected Hoshi, "It will be better if we can figure out a way to keep you under Terran protection."

"It will be in Earth's best interest to keep me," said Ravel.

"How so?" asked Malcolm.

"When Enme's father was assassinated, I wasn't the only member of his inner circle that was forced into exile. There are dozens of us, and many have escaped to what you call no man's land — this neutral zone between Alliance and Romulan space."

"Go on," said Malcolm.

"Like Enme and myself, these people will now consider it their patriotic duty to see the current Romulan government overthrown. And the quickest way to see that a Romulan regime is overthrown is for them to suffer a major military defeat. . .Enme was gone before the coup, but before I was captured by the Orions, I was in contact with several refugee ships. I won't reveal the position of the refugees to the Vulcans. I'll die first. But if Earth were to offer them asylum, they might be convinced to help you in your war effort."

Malcolm was silent.

"We're talking engineers who designed Romulan Warships," said Enme, "We're talking physicians who can give you all the information you want on Romulan biology to make bioweapons, we're talking officers of the Imperial Army well-versed in Romulan tactical strategy. But every moment you wait, makes it more likely that my people will hunt the refugees down and annihilate them."

The comm buzzed. Phlox's voice echoed into the room.

"Mr. Reed, the Captain is awake and asking to see you."

"Understood," said Malcolm.

"Go ahead and eat without me," said Malcolm standing up, "I'll be back soon enough."

***

T'Pol's eyes slowly opened. She recognized the ceiling of sickbay, and she heard Trip and Malcolm's voices close to her. They weren't speaking to her but rather to each other.

"Ah, Commander," said Phlox, "It's good to see you awake. You gave Mr. Reed and the security team quite a scare on the mining colony."

T'Pol attempted to sit up.

"Don't try and sit up, Commander," he said, "You've been unconscious for nearly 36 hours. You need time to recover."

T'Pol nodded, and she turned on her side to see Trip sitting on the edge of a bio bed and Malcolm standing next to him.

"How are you feelin', darling?"

"I'm fatigued, Captain, but otherwise I feel healthy," said T'Pol with the utmost of professionalism.

"Good to hear it," replied Trip, "Malcolm made sure not to hand over Ravel to the Vulcans and Admiral Archer bought us some time by sending us half across the quadrant and away from the front lines. . .but its looking more and more like the Starfleet intends to hand Ravel over to your old friends at the V'Shar. She's terrified and your brother's about to blow a gasket."

T'Pol nodded.

"Any suggestions as to how we can talk the Vulcans out of this?" asked Malcolm.

T'Pol gazed up at Malcolm, and she pondered the situation for only a moment.

"I have one suggestion," said T'Pol, "but I must make it to my. . .to Tirak," said T'Pol.

Trip and Malcolm glanced at each other.

"Phlox," said T'Pol, "When will I be released? I need to speak with Tirak and Ravel as soon as possible."

****

"I must what?" said Enme.

"You must marry Ravel," said T'Pol.

Enme shook his head, in shock. T'Pol had hoped to inform Ravel and him together, but Ravel had retired early from exhaustion. She was still traumatized by her experience with the Orions.

"Vulcan law is very strict regarding a husband's right to physically access his spouse. Our mating cycles make it a necessity. Since you are under Starfleet's protection, that protection would apply to your spouse under Vulcan law."

Enme looked out the window and stared at the blur of stars.

"But I'm not Vulcan," said Enme, "Surely, they can override the law in the case of other species."

T'Pol shook her head.

"The law is arcane, and it applies to all marriages. The Captain used the law to make certain I was allowed to leave Vulcan after our marriage and return to Starfleet. He also invoked the same law to make certain we would be allowed to serve together. Starfleet didn't want to cause a diplomatic incident by insulting me or violating Vulcan family law. It was determined then that the Captain's humanness did not have a bearing on his rights as a husband."

Enme laughed, and T'Pol continued.

"No doubt the Vulcan government and the V'Shar will insist that you and Ravel be debriefed and carefully monitored. But Mr. Reed is an intelligence agent, and his team, as you have observed on several occasions, is well-equipped. Although we can't guarantee that you will be allowed to stay on _Enterprise_, marrying Ravel will make certain she can stay under Terran control."

Enme nodded.

"All right," he said, "Do you know if you're ship's garden happens to grow Romulan Blood Orchids?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

"When a Romulan male wishes to propose, he sends the best Blood Orchid he can find to his intended. If she accepts it, it's an acceptance of the proposal."

"Crewman Bowers, who is in charge of our shipboard garden, is an exo-horticulturalist. I'm not sure she can provide you with a Romulan Blood Orchid, but she may have a close analog."

Enme began to pace a little.

"And who will officiate? Do you have a priest aboard the ship?"

"Terran tradition dictates the captain of a vessel can perform a legally binding marriage, provided there are two witnesses."

Enme nodded again.

"Who are these witnesses?"

"One is generally chosen by the bride, the other by the groom — usually close friends or relatives but anyone of sound mind can be the witness."

"Will you be my witness, sister?"

"Of course," she replied, "and I'm sure one of the other crew will stand up for Ravel. If you apply for a license over subspace with digital signatures and marry before two witnesses, the ceremony will be legally binding."

Enme headed toward the door.

"Can we go to the garden now? I know it's late, but I want to send the orchid in the morning with a note explaining. . ."

Enme continued to chatter on, and T'Pol observed that he was not at all reluctant to marry Ravel for legal reasons. From his grinning and his laughter, she deduced that he was happy at this turn of events.

****

That night, T'Pol returned to her quarters expecting it to be empty. When last she left sickbay, Phlox said he was keeping Trip overnight for observation. But she immediately inhaled his scent as she opened the door, and there was a light on in their bedroom.

"I'm in here, darlin'" he called out.

She found him in bed, reading a PADD.

"I convinced Phlox that I'd get better rest in my own comfy bed," he said, "as long as I stay here until noon tomorrow, he's okay with that. But he said to tell you that you can't expect me to exert myself."

Trip spoke that last part a little wistfully.

"They'll be plenty of time for _exertion_ in the days to come. The trip to Denobula should prove uneventful."

T'Pol slowly started changing out of her uniform and readying herself for bed. As she did so, she explained how Crewman Bowers had been able to provide an orchid that was very close in color to Romulan Blood Orchids. In the meantime, Enme was going to compose a letter explaining the need for their marriage to accompany the flower, which Bowers had agreed to deliver in the morning. The groom was not allowed to deliver the flower and note himself. Apparently, that was considered bad luck.

"I think it's kinda romantic," said Trip, "Your brother seemed to care a lot about her well being. I think he was sweet on her before all this started."

T'Pol crawled in bed beside Trip.

"You may well be right," she replied as she put her head on his shoulder, "How are you feeling?"

"Just a little tired," said Trip, "Remind me to avoid getting clunked on the head. I never enjoy it when I do that."

She sighed.

"We must tell Starfleet that we can't serve together on a combat vessel. Our bond might help us work together on a daily basis, but when you were wounded, I was also incapacitated. That poses an unacceptable risk to this crew. We should ask for a transfer to another kind of vessel or back to Earth."

Trip sighed, and then he smiled at her. He took her hand.

"Let me ask you somethin'. Do you think we could learn to use some of the blocking techniques to prevent the bond from acting the way it did when you collapsed?"

T'Pol thought about this for a moment.

"We could probably make such an occurrence far less likely, but it would always be a risk."

T'Pol knew her suggestion was logical, but Trip was giving her a look. The same look he gave her when he talked her into marrying him. He had good a good counterargument, that she knew.

"So, what happened when you and I were knocked out? You've been briefed, I assume."

"Lt. Commander Reed was able to retrieve Ravel from the mining colony, and Lt. Sato was able to destroy the drone ship when she took command."

Trip smiled.

"So, in essence, thanks to the competence of Hoshi and Malcolm — there were no negative consequences to this ship or her crew. . .now, I'm not saying that you and I don't need to work on making sure this bond doesn't knock us both out at once, we do. . .but I don't want to be the kind of Captain who doesn't let my crew step up and take responsibility in a crisis. Bond or no bond, in wartime both of us could be hurt. How do we know that you wouldn't have been clunked on the head along with me, had you been on the bridge? I'll be a better captain if I know that if you can't step in for me, that Malcolm or even Hoshi can — if a worst case scenario happens. And if there's a small risk that you and I could be taken out at once, I think the crew would be willing to assume that risk it in light of the last couple of days. I'll explain everything to Malcolm and Phlox. They can be ready."

T'Pol remained quiet, pondering her husband's words. Such faith in the others. . .was logical given their histories.

"Malcolm, Hoshi. . .Travis and Phlox. . .they're like a second family to me, and I think they are to you. They've got our backs. We can't abandon them because of what might happen, and if the worst happens, as it nearly did yesterday, they won't abandon us. They'll step up. That is a far safer situation for this crew and this ship than if the captain and first officer were the only ones who could take control in a crisis."

T'Pol searched her husband's eyes, and she saw the wisdom there. He had come close to death too many times to allow fear to rule his life.

"I'll study the Vulcan database for blocking techniques. We'll probably have to work at them together, in meditation. It will require much discipline."

Trip put down the Padd and turned out the light, and then put his arm around her in the darkness of the cabin.

"I can handle that, sweetie," he said, "Now I think I better get to sleep. I have to learn how to perform a wedding ceremony. Two nights from now, I'm going to be doing it twice."

Trip gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Sleep well. I love you."

"I love you too, Trip," she said softly and she soon followed her husband into sleep.


	31. Epilogue

_**Disclaimer: See the previous 30 chapters.**_

_**Rating: PG. No smut, violence or swearing.**_

_**A/N: You can't end a big, long romance adventure without a wedding, can you? The role of Chef will be played by David Sedaris. That's who I picture him looking like here.**_

**Epilogue**

T'Pol surveyed the nearly empty mess hall, which had been decorated in red and white flowers from the garden. A long table, covered by a white cloth, was set up in the corner and would soon offer up a large buffet of delicacies from many worlds. Her brother, who was still furious with the Vulcans, had requested that no Vulcan food be served at the wedding, but she had decided that wouldn't support his cover identity. So, several Vulcan dishes were to be on the menu.

The whole crew had been invited to what was going to be a double wedding. Most people had been thrilled when they heard Lt. Sato and Lt. Commander Reed had decided to marry, and then they were curious to discover that the ship's two Vulcan guests were also going to be married during the same celebration.

The fact that Lt. Commander Reed and Lt. Sato had invited the Vulcans to share in their celebration only fueled the ship's gossip machine about the mysterious Tirak and his bride Ravel.

T'Pol had been informed of all the gossip by Hoshi and Malcolm, who along with Trip and Phlox, were the only members of the crew who knew who their Vulcan guests really were. The official story read that Starfleet had hired the Tirak, who was a former V'tosh Ka'tur, as a consultant on no-man's land planets and that due to Vulcan marriage laws, he had been able to bring his fiance along on the mission.

However, rumors and speculation about the Vulcan guests had gripped the crew. One rumor stated that he was a V'Shar agent and had been behind enemy lines and actually seen Romulans. Another rumor was that he was somehow related to Commander T'Pol — certainly, several people had noticed the resemblance between the two, a resemblance that couldn't be explained away by the fact that they were both Vulcans. One member of the crew had claimed to hear her refer to him as "brother" but another had suggested that the fraternal designation might be the way Vulcans refer to one another when away from the planet — or indicate that they are simply members of the same clan. Another rumor said that Tirak had never left the V'tosh Ka'Tur - and several people had claimed to see him smile and eat meat. His fiance, however, seemed to be the perfect Vulcan, serene and emotionless.

Chef stood at one side of the table, his eyes surveying where each dish would be placed. A six tiered traditional human cake wedding cake sat on a small side table. The base frosting was white, and Bowers had helped him match the color of his sugared roses to the real roses by providing him with the genome for the flowers she was using for the decor.

"I wish I had known there would be two couples," said Chef snippily to T'Pol as he examined the cake, "I would have made a second cake."

T'Pol glanced over at the Chef. He had complained loudly the previous day about not having time to make the first one.

"The Vulcans have no need for a cake," replied T'Pol smoothly, "They will attend the reception for a short time and then retire to their quarters for meditation."

Chef turned around and looked at T'Pol. So did Bowers, who was across the room and standing on a step stool and affixing some roses to the trellis where the ceremonies were to take place.

"Is that what they are calling it these days?" asked the Chef, who was notoriously forthright in his opinions.

"Vulcans really meditate on their wedding nights?" asked Bowers from her perch.

Bowers tone was less intrusive than the Chef's, but she seemed just as eager for information.

T'Pol nodded, though she doubted the meditation would be on the agenda for her brother and Ravel. The Chef put his hands on his hips, and he rolled his eyes.

"Are you telling me that you and the Captain meditated on your wedding night?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. Chef knew his value to the morale of the ship, and he was the only crew member who would have dared to ask her such a personal question. However, T'Pol had no intention of answering.

"Well," said the Chef as he turned his attention back to the cake, "That would be an awful waste of . . .time, Commander. If I had been lucky enough to marry the Captain, there would be no meditating, that's for sure."

T'Pol blinked at the Chef, secretly flattered and glad her expression gave away the non-traditional way she and Trip had spent their wedding night on Vulcan.

"I'm glad I'm not Vulcan," laughed Bowers, "No offense, Commander."

"None taken, Crewman," said T'Pol.

T'Pol headed back to her quarters to change for the wedding. In her hand, she held a PADD. On it were the certified Earth marriage licenses for Hoshi and Malcolm and Ravel and Enme. The latter license had been transmitted with the bride and groom's birthplaces redacted and their races listed under the ancient term — _vuhlkantra_. T'Pol wanted to be certain everything on the license was truthful, so no court could declare it invalid. Admiral Archer had been kind enough to transmit the document to Earth's Central Records database, asking that it be kept top secret but officially filed.

T'Pol tapped the PADD and hurried off. The sooner the ceremonies happened, and she could send addenda indicating that to the Earth's Central Records Database, and the better she would feel.

****

Five hours later, Trip sipped on a glass of champagne and looked around at the crowded mess hall and smiled. Malcolm and Hoshi were dancing with a group of the crew, and the "Vulcan" guests sat together in the corner talking. Hoshi and Malcolm appeared to radiate happiness, and the two Romulans looked pretty cheerful as well.

Trip was proud of himself for not flubbing anything in either ceremony, of course both couples had requested the simplest of civil vows. Nothing fancy. Trip was grateful that security precluded the performance of a Romulan ceremony, which according to Ravel was three hours long and involved the mixing of the couple's blood.

When Phlox began dancing with Hoshi for the third time, Malcolm grabbed a drink and approached Trip.

"Thank you again for making this happen, Captain," said Malcolm.

Trip grinned.

"Like I said, I think will be good for morale to have married couples on the ship," replied Trip, "and I know this from experience."

Malcolm glanced over at Enme and Ravel, who were still intensely conversing as if they were alone in the room. Trip recognized apprehension.

"We can't forget they're Romulans," sighed Malcolm, "They offered to help us develop bioweapons for use against their own people — as though that was the most normal thing in the world."

Trip shot Malcolm a knowing look. As charming as both Ravel and Enme were, they still saw the world very differently than humans — or Vulcans for that matter.

"T'Pol says that if we do defeat the Romulans and the current regime is toppled, she thinks they'll head back and rejoin Romulan society."

Malcolm shook his head.

"I'm just hoping that some of our mercy and compassion rubs off on them," continued Trip, "Maybe they could take some of it back with them, both of them seem impressed that we've treated them well and stuck our necks out to help Ravel stay under Terran control. . .it could plant a seed."

Malcolm downed his drink.

"You're an optimist," said Malcolm, "You always have been, but as near as I can see we — _we_ meaning the crew of this particular ship — have won their loyalty. I don't think they'll betray us. I'm not so sure about Earth and Starfleet at large."

Trip smiled.

"All the more reason that we're the best equipped ship to handle our next assignment," said Trip.

Malcolm glanced over at his Captain, curious.

"Seems that Starfleet Intelligence is pretty intrigued by this group of refugees that Ravel has carrot-ed in front them. After we finish up our errand on Denobula, looks like the brass wants us to go into this neutral zone and find as many of them as we can. You'll probably get special instructions from Section 31 in your next mailbag."

Malcolm bit his lip.

"We're going by ourselves? No escort?"

"We're supposed to keep the mission low-key. Hopefully, our guests will help us avoid any Romulan scout ships or drones. At least, that's what I'm hoping."

T'Pol appeared in the mess hall and strode over the where Malcolm and Trip were standing.

"Congratulations, again, Lt. Commander Reed," said T'Pol formally before she turned to Trip, "The addenda to the licenses have been submitted with your digital signature, Captain. The marriages are both legally binding under Terran law."

"Well," said Malcolm, "that makes me feel romantic. If you'll excuse me, I need to go find my bride."

With that, Malcolm headed back over to where Phlox was still dancing with Hoshi and cut in.

"Well," said Trip, "I think I've earned some good karma today. I married two of my best officers — to each other I mean. And I saved a woman from being deported and imprisoned against her will."

For a brief moment, Trip remembered back to "Charles" and the Vissians, wishing that situation had turned out differently. T'Pol, sensing his sadness, slipped her arm into his.

"You did well, husband," she said, "and it speaks good of humanity that you shall treat the Romulans far better than they would treat anyone in the same position."

Trip started to lead her to the door and whispered in her ear.

"What say you and I get out of here? I'm still under doctor's orders to rest after all."

"That would be to my liking."

And with that, the captain and his first officer slipped out of the mess hall undetected by the crew. Trip knew that is was going to be a long war, and the ship had a dangerous mission ahead of it but for the moment none of that mattered.

_**A/N: Whew. That took longer that I thought. But I have left this wide open for a prequel as well as a sequel. So, there's that.**_


End file.
